An Imperfect Perfectionist

Chapter 5

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Thank you so much for the reviews! Please keep it up :) I'm trying to wrap this up before I start my internship in a few weeks, so the more reviews, the more motivation I have to finish quickly....

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"I admire addicts. In a world where everybody is waiting for some blind, random disaster, or some sudden disease, the addict has the comfort of knowing what will most likely wait for him down the road. He's taken some control over his ultimate fate, and his addiction keeps the cause of death from being a total surprise."

--Chuck Palahniuk

When Monica pulled back and stood up to back away, Chandler let her, not wanting to push her and lose the tiny bit of her he felt like he had recovered that night. When he saw her faint, he jumped up, reaching out to grab her a second too late, the back of her head hitting the side of the coffee table as she fell lifelessly to the ground.

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Monica woke up, disoriented and confused as to where she was. Looking around, she realized she was in a hospital, hooked up to an IV. Scanning the room, she noticed a tray of food beside her bed.

She was alone, though.

"God, sorry, I just went to the bathroom," Chandler rushed back in, feeling bad she had woken up in the few minutes he hadn't been in the room. "You weren't supposed to wake up while I was gone."

"My head is killing me," was all Monica responded with, placing her head in her hands.

"Probably because you hit it hard enough to give yourself a concussion," Chandler explained. "Although, they're not sure if it was the concussion or severe dehydration that caused the fainting that caused you to stay unconscious for," he looked at his watch, "a little over an hour. Oh, and if anyone asks, I'm your husband, because apparently it's against the law to give out that kind of information to anyone other than family members."

Monica closed her eyes. She didn't remember fainting. What did she remember? Talking to Chandler. About what, though? It was fuzzy.

"Where's everyone else?" Monica finally asked.

Chandler hesitated. "I, uh, didn't call anyone else yet. My first thought was to call Ross or your parents. I didn't know if you wanted me to, though," he finished quietly, feeling, in the pit of his stomach, that he should have called her parents. If it was serious, he was going to call her parents. If she hadn't woken up, he was going to call her parents.

Monica smiled slightly. "Thanks."

He should have called her parents. Or Ross. Or any of the others, who could have called Ross or her parents.

"That wasn't me saying I'm not telling them," Chandler clarified, and Monica nodded in response to that. "They can, uh, keep you here for 48 hours to monitor you because of the concussion. Longer if your heart rate and blood pressure aren't normal or you're still dehydrated."

Monica started at him, realizing what he was saying, and hating him in that moment. It was his fault she was there, and stuck there, for the next two days. She didn't pick herself up off the floor or call an ambulance or whatever he did to get her there. He did. And placing blame on him for her being there was a lot easier than accepting responsibility for it herself.

As the doctor came in to talk to her, Chandler backed away slightly, sensing how angry she was with him, but knowing what he needed to do. Looking at his watch, though, he realized how late it was, and there was no need to wake up Ross or anyone else until morning. He'd give it a few more hours. Sighing, he looked around before walking slowly back to Monica's room, knowing very well she currently saw him as the bad guy, and, no matter how much that hurt him, he knew he needed to be it.

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"I don't get it, why, exactly, can't they make her stay and get treatment?" Ross asked, crossing his arms after Chandler returned with news that she would more than likely be released later that day, despite having been officially diagnosed by both a psychologist and a physician as having anorexia nervosa.

Chandler shrugged. "Because it's the law. We can't make her get treatment. They can't hold her here unless she's an actual threat to herself."

"Starving yourself to death isn't being a threat to yourself?"

"Apparently not on the same level as, say, threatening to jump off a building or blow your brains out…."

"Chandler," Ross shook his head in frustration. He had called his parents, and though they had come earlier, their presence had only made the situation worse, and Monica refused to see them, resulting in Judy storming out in tears and Jack rushing after her.

"Look, there's nothing we can do right now, Ross. We can't make her get treatment. They can't make her stay here. She's an adult, and, in this country, adults get to make their own decisions," Chandler finally snapped before walking away, heading down the hall and into Monica's room.

When he walked in, Monica folded her arms across her chest, a full tray of food sitting in front of her. Chandler sighed. She hated him right now. Actually, it was safe to say that she hated everyone right now. Hating him was easiest, though, because he was the reason she was there. Cautiously, Chandler crossed the room, pulling a chair beside her bed.

"When you eat that," he motioned to her lunch as he sat down, "you can go home." Monica looked at the tray and then at him, not believing him. "Mon, I'm not trying to trick you," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, wondering if he looked half as exhausted as he felt.

Monica scanned the tray. Half a sandwich. An apple. A pudding cup. Apple juice. More calories than she would eat in a day, let alone a single meal.

"Please, Mon," Chandler pleaded quietly, leaning his elbows against her bed, too exhausted to fight with her.

Monica again looked at the food, tears in her eyes, shaking her head. Chandler sighed in frustration before standing up and leaving the room. Monica again looked at her nemesis, picking up the sandwich. Lifting up the bread, she took off the slice of cheese and threw it back on the tray, tears still in her eyes as she took the first bite, hating herself as she chewed it slowly before swallowing, forcing herself to take a second bite after that. After half of the sandwich was gone, she picked up the apple, eating that as well. When Chandler returned a few minutes later, she was completely in tears.

"Happy?" she whispered, motioning to the half-empty tray, and Chandler sat down beside her, setting down the cup of water he'd returned with as he pulled her into his arms, trying not to cry himself at her stubbornness and misery.

No, he wasn't fucking happy.