Gorsh! I am really sorry that I havent updated, but I do have an excuse...I was stuck! Oh, and a little thing called finishing 'Last Night On Earth'...but that is done now, and so is this!...nearly, anyway hehe! I think that I only have 2 chapters left...2 or 3...probably 2 me thinks! There is only so much torture and mayhem I can put this poor guy through! And then I will be able to go and finish my other stories, knowing that I have completed one of the hardest things I have ever written (this story is sooo hard!) So yeah, on with the story! This chapter is short, and a bit slow, but I wanted a bit of time with Chandler's thoughts...again. There will be some action in the next chapter, trust me! I have it (slightly) figured out! So please, read and review, and no flames! Love you all!
I do not own Friends/characters/actors, but I do feel the need to tell you thatI would never picture Matty going through any of this...only Chandler...cause they are two different people...I think?
Terror lingered.
He was certain that it was far from over; certain that the pain would be repeated once more. The pain, the humiliation, the violation.
He was certain that it was not over. He knew that it was far from over.
Chandler rolled over, staring blankly at the clock. The numbers blurred slightly, then cleared once more.
Rachel had left hours ago.
She had been gone for a long time, but yet it seemed like only moments had passed.
The human mind was a fickle thing. It was odd, it was relentless and it was deceiving. Chandler wished more than anything that it wasn't relentless. That it would stop the images, the mental pictures that he was being attacked with.
Faces above him. Filled with pleasure. Filled with laughter. Filled with sick desire. Filled with-
Chandler rolled back over, tears burning in his eyes. He blinked them away, pulling the covers tighter around him. His hands shook, and it didn't surprise him one bit.
He was sure that he had been shaking non stop since-
What was he calling it now? The attack? The violation? The turning point in his life? The destruction of his life?
He wasn't sure, but he knew what he couldn't call it.
That word; that tiny word, starting with r. How one word struck so much fear and pain into his heart, Chandler would never know. But it did. And he knew that he would never be able to speak that word; not in reference to him anyway. He had used it last night, and it had broken him. It had pained him to say that tiny little word, but it hadn't been in reference to him.
It could never be in reference to him.
The human mind was a fickle thing. It could create so much happiness, yet at the same time so much pain. It could also create denial.
Chandler liked denial. It was a nice word; flowed nicely off of the tongue. He liked saying it, and he liked falling victim to it.
It a way, he had accepted what had happened to him; he knew it had happened, he knew that it had broken him. He was able to believe it. But he also knew he was still in denial. Unable to say a tiny little word because he wasn't willing to take that last step. The step that would cause it to be completely true. The step that would cause the denial to disappear; disappear and let the pain engulf him entirely.
The denial disappearing would be a horrible thing. It would make it all worse, not better. Chandler was already shattered and broken as much as he believed possible, but the loss of his denial would worsen it ten fold. That was something that Chandler was sure he couldn't live with.
He could smell them on him. It lingered, like an overbearing mother. Chandler didn't have the strength to do something about it. He knew that it was fruitless anyway. Why bother trying to get rid of something that was insistent on staying?
He stared blankly at the wall, wishing that he could somehow block his nose. Wishing that he could somehow drill out his eyes. Wishing that he could lose his skin, just so that he could never feel touch again.
He could still feel their touch, but he knew that he couldn't do anything about that either. He couldn't even pretend that it was a loving touch, because his brain knew it was not true. He couldn't even be numb, because that had been taken away from him as well.
The human mind was a fickle thing. It created love, it created anger, it created every feeling under the sun. But it would not create the one thing that Chandler longed for; the one thing that he needed more than anything at that moment.
He needed to be numb.
Chandler hated his brain; hated everything that it entailed. It was causing him so much pain, and it would not do the one thing that was so easy. The one thing that he desired. Instead, it chose to taunt him with voices.
You look like a good fuck…if you're lucky, maybe afterwards we will let you live
Beautiful eyes…that's what we look for in a man
Chandler didn't close his eyes – his apparent beautiful eyes. He was past that. He knew that it wouldn't help. That wouldn't stop them from being so blue. That wouldn't turn back time and stop the monsters coming near him. That wouldn't stop the voices in his ear, nor would it stop the memory of touch. The memory of a hand on his naked thigh; a hand slowly – painfully slow – running upwards, the touch rough and taunting. That wouldn't stop the hand from-
Chandler squeezed his eyes shut. He had thought he was past that but, apparently he wasn't. Just like he had thought, his eyes being closed didn't turn back time. It didn't stop the voices in his ear – sickly sweet, yet terrifying. It didn't stop the memory of the touch; touching him places that rough hands were not meant to touch.
He wanted it all to stop. He wanted everything to stop. The pain, the fear, the touch, the smell. Everything.
But he had no idea how to do that.
The human mind was a fickle thing. It wouldn't stop his pain; it wouldn't stop anything. Yet it would sit there and taunt him with ridiculous solutions. Things that he could not carry out; things that he did not want to carry out. Hospitals, help lines. Talking to his friends. His brain told him all of those things, and Chandler hated it for that.
It was being ridiculous. There was no way Chandler was going to do any of those things. The only way he would be moving through this was by himself; no friends, no family, no hospitals.
Chandler rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He had to move through this on his lonesome, but he knew how that would go. He wouldn't move forward, he would move backwards.
No.
Not backwards.
Down.
He would continue falling.
He wanted to stand, he wanted to climb, he wanted to be numb. He wanted everything to disappear, but he didn't want any help.
It was times like these that Chandler turned to his brain for help. But he knew that would be a useless idea.
The human mind was a fickle thing. It made you picture things; made you see things that weren't there. It taunted you with false hope, making you believe things that weren't true. It was cruel, unkind, unloving.
It was similar to the world as Chandler now saw it. Cruel, unkind, unloving. A world that wasn't those things would never have put him through this. Only a cruel world would have made him feel so much pain. Only an unkind world would make the smell linger, reminders of the terror he had felt. Only an unloving world would have let him be violated like that.
Chandler hated the world. He hated the situation. He hated the pain, he hated the smell, he hated the everything.
And he hated the monsters that had done this to him. But in a way, he felt suddenly thankful towards them.
They had uncovered the truth. They had whisked away the fog, and exposed the world as it truly was. A horrible, dirty, cruel place. Chandler was glad that he had been given a chance to see it as many couldn't.
He knew the truth. He knew that the world was a horrible place.
The human mind was a fickle thing. It kept so much hidden; so many things under wraps, things that should have been showed. But at times, it stood up and uncovered the dust. It showed you things that you would never have seen without pain; without torture, without shattering.
It showed you all those things, yet it would not let you be numb. It would not stop remembering. It would not stop the falling. And most of all, it would not stop the pain.
Instead, it sat there, telling you things you didn't need to hear. Things that were not helpful to you. Things that were ridiculous.
Chandler rolled onto his side, staring at the clock once more. It had been an entire day since, but it felt like moments ago.
The terror still lingered.