Hi guys! I have to say sorry again for the lack of updates...There were demands for my other story as well, and Chandler was in the wardrobe counting to 10 and he was up to 6...whoops, wrong scene!...and i think i did it wrong too...ahem, anyway
To tell you the truth...this story is very emotionally draining, if ya get me! It is incredibly hard to get into the frame of mind to write it because it is such a horrible subject, and I am a very happy person so i really have to depress myself when it comes to this! With all my other depressing stories, I'm fine, but this one is crazy! But oh well, I love writing it! Thankyou for all your reviews, they make my day..they really do! I feel so loved yay!
This chapter...is like twice as long as it was meant to be...I dont know how that happened, but I;m glad it did! So, I hope you enjoy it and please read and review! I promise update soon!
I do not own Friends/Characters/actors, but i wouldnt mind playing hide and seek with both Matt and Chan!...the normal game, not the dirty kind hehe!
The tears lingered.
On the edge, not spilling over, but repeatedly threatening to.
Chandler didn't wipe at them.
Not anymore. He had tried to rid his eyes of them, but they always returned. He had given up trying. He had given up doing anything.
He hurt.
The pain was unbearable. Physically, it was bad. Bad, but he could bare it.
Mixed with emotionally, and Chandler felt like screaming. Chandler felt like breaking down. Chandler felt like wailing like a teething toddler, desperate for someone to make his pain go away.
There was no one who could do that though.
To even attempt it, they would have to know, and they couldn't know.
Chandler wasn't allowing that. Chandler couldn't let them know how he had failed. Chandler couldn't let them take his problem – his failure – onto their already weighed down shoulders. It wasn't their problem; they shouldn't have had to deal with it.
He had been the one to fail. He had been the one to break. He had been the one to fall.
Not them.
Never them.
They were strong.
They weren't weak. Not like he was. If they had been in Chandler's situation, things would have been different.
Joey wouldn't have let those four men near him.
Ross would have stopped them from touching him; violating them.
The girls…
Chandler wasn't sure what the girls would have done. Phoebe would have been able to fight back, he knew that with certainty. She had been in the situation before and had come out on top.
Monica and Rachel though…
To Chandler, they were a mystery. He knew them better then he thought possible, but he was clueless when it came to this question.
Would they have fought back? Would they have escaped?
Chandler didn't know, but he did know that if they hadn't fought back; if they had been touched, violated, destroyed, it would have been acceptable. Not to their loved ones, and definitely not to Chandler. He was not one to fight, but if anybody touched any of the girls, he would gladly kill that person without a second thought.
It wouldn't be acceptable to their loved ones, but it would be acceptable to society. There were so many help lines and services out there, dealing with this situation…but mostly, if not all for women. Nothing about men. Men were meant to be able to protect themselves, while women were thought of as the weaker sex.
Chandler had always thought of that as ridiculous. It was a stereotype and men were just as vulnerable as women. If he hadn't believed that before, he did now. After last night, although he had been weak and failed, he had proven to himself just why he had thought of men and women as equals.
But he had failed. He was different to those other men, who didn't have a chance. He could have fought back. Just like the other men, he had been attacked, that was true. He had had a chance to fight back, unlike other men. Other men had been attacked, had been violated, had been r-
He couldn't even say the word. To say the word would mean it was true.
Chandler was still clinging to the tiny, false hope that it wasn't true. That he hadn't been weak. That he hadn't failed. That he hadn't become different to other men. That he hadn't been attacked, that he hadn't been violated, that he hadn't been r-
"Hey man."
Chandler started violently, shrinking back into the couch. He didn't scream this time; the fear was too great to scream. Before, when it had been Rachel, he had known on some level that it was her, not them. His attackers hadn't had the high, girly voice. That, on some level, had given Rachel away. Had told him that he shouldn't be scared. He still had been, but not enough to silence him with fear.
This voice wasn't high. This voice wasn't girly. This voice wasn't Rachel. It was male, it was deeper, and it was Joey. Chandler knew it was Joey, the small part of his brain that was still logical told him that. He knew, in some way, that it was Joey but he was still paralysed with fear. He was still squeezing his tear-filled eyes slightly shut. He was still beginning to hyperventilate.
"Chandler?"
The voice. So familiar. So worried. So Joey. He knew that voice. He had never been scared of that voice. He could never be scared of that voice.
But he was.
"Chandler!"
Chandler couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't talk. He couldn't do anything except panic and struggle for breath.
It was Joey. He shouldn't be scared of Joey. Joey was smaller then him. Joey was his friend. Joey would never hurt him. Definitely not in that way.
But his brain wasn't logical. It wasn't thinking that way. Joey was a threat. Everything was a threat.
"Chandler!" Hands grabbed his arms, tightly squeezing his aching limbs. It wasn't Joey, it couldn't have been Joey. His mind had been tricking him. Chandler let out a shuddered gasp, his best attempt at screaming. His best attempt at fighting back.
I've been waiting all night for this
He was failing once more. He was failing and he was falling; harder and harder with each second that passed.
The tears that had lingered spilled over, hot, salty trails down his cheeks. There was the voice - loud, panicked, male. Chandler couldn't make out the words anymore; they passed through him like wind through a canal.
The touch lingered.
Rough, yet strangely gentle at the same time. It confused Chandler how those two could intermingle with one another, but they did.
It had been rough last night; rough, unloving and painful-
We can't wait to hear you scream
This was rough, but it wasn't unloving. Chandler couldn't figure that out. Chandler couldn't comprehend. Chandler couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't scream. The pain shot through his body, but his mind was numb.
The canal closed up as quickly as it had opened, keeping the words bottled up in between and Chandler could understand the words once more.
"-God, Chan! Deep breaths damnit! Chandler, open your eyes…look at me!"
Look at me…
The voice was so panicked, but Chandler didn't care. He didn't comprehend that it was a helpful voice. It was a sickly-sweet voice in his ear, one that should only guarantee good things, but had promised him nothing but pain, terror, touch, smell.
It had promised him so much, and had followed through on all of those things; resulting in him frozen with fear at that moment, his only movement caused by the panicked breathing and harsh shakes from the hands touching him.
Hands that were now leaving his arms. Chandler would have starting crying with happiness from the loss of the touch, but he was already crying.
As quick as they left, they returned; gripping his chin painfully and jerking his head up. The touch may have been gentle enough, but to Chandler it was sheer torture.
"Chandler, open your eyes! Look at me-
watch me do this to you
"No!"
As quickly as Chandler had lost his ability to speak and move, he regained it. The words had been like a lightening bolt, striking through his terror and numbness.
He hadn't fought back last night. He had failed last night, but he had promised himself that he would not fail again.
The scream was torn from his throat, louder then he had even spoken. It had been shrill, so unlike his normal voice that Chandler had barely recognised that he had spoken. The only thing that had given it away was the fact that he felt the word leave his throat.
He lashed out, desperate to protect himself. Desperate to stop them from touching him, from hurting him, from violating him. It had happened once before; it was not going to happen again.
Fists connected with hard flesh and bone and the hands that had touched him disappeared. There was a loud thud and Chandler leapt to his feet, his eyes flying open to nothing but blur.
The tears lingered and this time Chandler wiped at them. He had to see. He couldn't escape if he couldn't see.
Chandler didn't look behind him; didn't look to where he knew they were. Instead, he fled the room and entered another. He didn't care what room he was in, he only cared that he was in a different room to them.
Foolishly he had run into his room. His numb yet panicked brain had calmed slightly, telling him that it had been a stupid idea. He was four stories up; he couldn't escape through this room. He had a better chance of going out the front door, but it was too late for that now.
He was trapped.
He was cornered.
He was in big trouble.
Chandler glanced hurriedly at the chair; the chair that he had used last night.
He dismissed it quickly. It had been a ridiculous idea. One chair keeping out four men? The chair would buckle easily under their pressure. He should have figured that last night. But last night he hadn't been thinking.
Footsteps. In the other room. Not enough for all four of them though. There were only footsteps from one person. The other three must have been waiting.
One was more then enough though. One was enough to hurt him, to take him, to violate him. He was as scared of one as he was of four.
And he was trapped.
Chandler pressed his back against the far wall, then slowly slid down to the floor. He had failed. They were going to touch him, feel him, enjoy him once more.
They had already shattered him once and now they were back to do it again. Back like they had promised.
We might just come after you later…to finish the job
Chandler squeezed his eyes shut, then pressed his trembling hands against his ears, desperate to stop the voice that was haunting him. Desperate to drown out the footsteps that he knew were coming to degrade him.
He had failed. They were going to hurt him again, and he had failed.
Stand, climb and fall.
There was no chance of that happening now.
He would never be able to stand or climb, not after this. He was resigned to keep falling. He was resigned to the painful landing that would soon come. The landing that he would face without a barrier; without his numbness to protect him.
They were going to hurt him; he was certain of it. Nothing good would come of this; it would ruin him.
But he was powerless to stop it.
His only wish was that it would cause him to become numb once more. Make him stop feeling the pain, the humiliation, the touch.
The violation.
The smell.
The pain.
The blood.
The everything.
He wished to be numb, and if there was one good thing that came out of this horrible mess, it was that his wish may be granted.
He may become numb forever.
The thought of that happening calmed him, but only slightly. As much as he wanted to be numb again, he didn't want to go through this again. He didn't want to even think of it happening.
But it was going to.
And even though he wanted to be numb, he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't face disgusting person, who was now crouching in front of him. He couldn't look him in the eye, knowing that the monster had ruined his life.
So he kept his eyes tightly shut, with his hands pressed against his ears still.
Why had he inherited his mother's eyes? Why did they have to be so blue? Why couldn't he have stayed in the shower, watching the Picasso that swirled down the drain, redder then Santa's outfit? Why hadn't he let Rachel help him?
Why couldn't he have stayed standing? Why was he instead falling, and about to come crashing down to the ground?
Why couldn't he be numb?
"Chandler."
The voice was soft, sickly sweet in his covered ear. Chandler trembled, not opening his eyes. Not taking his hands off his ears, although they did nothing to block out sounds, as it seemed. How did they know his name? How could they have known?
Probably the same way they knew where he lived, Chandler reasoned, slightly hysteric. He trembled again, a sudden sob coming from his lips.
"Chandler…Chandler, please…look at me."
Look at me…watch me do this to you
Chandler shook his head. He wasn't going to watch; not again. He couldn't watch their expressions, their blissful looks. He couldn't see that, knowing that they were in bliss because of his utmost sacrifice. Knowing that they had accomplished moments of pleasure; pleasure that they could have achieved elsewhere. Knowing that they had ruined a life – his life – forever, simply because they wanted a few moments of bliss.
He couldn't see that again.
So he kept his eyes shut.
"Chandler…I'm going to touch you now…okay?"
Why were they asking? They hadn't asked for permission last night, they had just taken everything, laughing at his expense. Why were they asking now? Chandler didn't know, and he figured that it didn't really matter. The monster was still going to touch him; dirty him once more with those rough, calloused fingers that sent chills down his spine; that terrified and sickened him.
A feather touch on his hand; barely there but still connecting. Still touching him. Still terrifying him. Chandler tried to protest, but couldn't get the words out. Instead, he let out a panicked moan, his body shuddering violently. He didn't want their fingers – their dirty, disgusting fingers – on him again.
But he couldn't do anything to stop that.
"I'm sorry."
The touch disappeared, and Chandler frowned. They were apologising? They were pulling away?
They must have been trying to trick him, Chandler reasoned.
But that didn't add up. The voice had been truly sorry…over something as small as a touch?
To Chandler, a touch was everything after last night. A touch was as bad as murder. But to others – to the monster who had been touching him – it was nothing. It was lint. It was unimportant.
The monster was truly sorry, and Chandler was unsure why.
The touch returned, as gentle and caring as before. Chandler still flinched, but he didn't moan this time. Confusion was still lingering.
The fingers gently grasped his own, and his hands were slowly pulled away from his ears. Chandler was frozen in terror. He was confused, yes, but he was still terrified.
"N-N…No," he managed to stammer out, shaking his head slightly. His eyes were still firmly shut.
"It's okay Chandler…you can open your eyes…I'm not going to hurt you." The voice was soft, confident but still sickly sweet.
Lies.
They were going to hurt him.
Of course they were going to hurt him. They had done it last night, they had promised it again. Why wouldn't they hurt him?
"….no…don't touch me…stay away."
Pathetic.
It sounded pathetic to his ears, and he waited for the laughter to begin. They had enjoyed his pain; enjoyed his fear. They had enjoyed mocking him last night, and he expected them to enjoy it again.
No laughter came and Chandler felt a sliver of doubt shoot through him. Maybe they weren't going to hurt him? Maybe it wasn't even-
"Chandler…I'm not going to hurt you…I would never hurt you, you know that…I'm your best friend buddy. J-Man and Channy, remember?"
The words cut through Chandler like a knife in a horror movie and his eyes flew open.
Close.
Too close.
Joey was right in his face, terrifyingly close.
He shrunk back once more, staring at Joey in shock.
They hadn't been here.
He had known that.
Deep in his mind, he had known that.
He had known that it was Joey, and still his mind had tricked him. Making him believe that he was in trouble. That he was going to be touched once more. That he was going to be violated once more. That he was going to be hurt once more.
He still could be though.
Joey had promised that he would never hurt Chandler, but he was a male.
Chandler had been hurt by males last night, he couldn't trust them.
He couldn't trust anybody.
"It's okay, Chandler. You had a freak-out or something…a…a panic attack." Joey stumbled over his words, unsure if it was the right phrasing. "It's okay…you're okay now."
"Get away from me," Chandler whispered, pressing his back harder against the wall.
He had seen Joey make a lot of faces over the years; happiness, sadness, anger, surprise, terror…he had seen it all. Some real, other's fake. Other's put on badly for a play or a TV show.
Joey had made a lot of faces over the years. But Chandler had never once seen the face that he was making at that moment.
Chandler suspected that it was the same face that he had been making since last night. The shattered, lost, hurt look.
Joey look broken, devastated, torn. And Chandler had caused that, with four little words.
But he didn't care.
Joey was out to hurt him. Joey was a threat. Joey had to leave.
Chandler slowly edged up the wall, never once taking his eyes off of Joey's. He feared that if he did, his friend would attack. His friend would touch him, and Chandler would be broken once more.
He was on his feet now, slowly backing away from Joey. Slowly backing towards the bed.
"Chandler-"
"Get away!" Chandler insisted, once more pressing his back up against the wall as Joey started towards him, the broken look on his face still; looking at him with deep brown eyes, eyes that he had inherited from his mother. Just like Chandler had.
Beautiful eyes…that's what we look for in a man
The voice hit Chandler like a brick dropped from the Empire State Building and he found the floor suddenly rushing towards him.
He was falling. And it didn't surprise him one bit. He had been falling for this entire time; metaphorically, but still falling. And now he was falling literally, and it didn't surprise him at all. It seemed fitting really.
Arms grabbed him, stopping him from falling. Chandler wanted to yell, wanted to scream, wanted to cry. He wanted to get those hands off of him. He felt disgusted to have them on him. But he also felt something odd.
Hope.
He had been falling physically and he had been stopped. Something had broken his fall. He hoped for a second that someone could stop him from metaphorically falling. But that hope disappeared quickly. Everything disappeared quickly.
He was lowered gently onto the bed, and for a moment he felt numb. He bathed in it happily. But then that also left him, and he was empty.
Darkness lingered.