An Imperfect Perfectionist
Chapter Six
~.~
When there's nothing we can do
And no one can get through
Watch you fall deeper into this mess
Well I haven't see you in awhile
You know I, I miss our talks
I miss your smile
'Cause the look of innocence is priceless
But, baby, right now you look so lifeless
--Tristan Prettyman, Song for the Rich
~.~
After she returned home from the hospital, Monica had secluded herself even more so than before, but nothing else had changed. Her feelings hadn't changed. Her routines hadn't changed. The only thing that was different was that now everyone knew, concretely, what was going on.
Joey kept offering her food. It was pitiful and childlike, really. She would actually usually accept, take a bite, and throw it away after he turned away. Phoebe kept insisting on cleansing her aura. Ross was still insistent on her getting treatment. Her parents kept calling, for presumably the same reason. Rachel was incredibly uncomfortable being around her. And Chandler….Well, Chandler was avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him. And she was avoiding him as if her life depended on it, which there had to be some kind of irony in.
She'd gained weight while she was at the hospital. Five pounds. Five. Disgusting. Pounds. If she went somewhere for treatment, she could only imagine how much worse that would get.
If her choices were starve to be thin or be healthy and fat…
Well, she was living with her decision, even if it meant, sooner or later, dying with her decision.
~.~
Monica nearly jumped off of her bed, where she was reading, at the sound of the front door slamming. No sooner than she sat up, though, did her bedroom door open, Chandler walking through it. His presence was slightly startling, too, since she hadn't seen much of him in the past week or so since returning home.
"I miss you," he immediately blurted out. "I live less than twenty steps away from you, but I miss you. You're standing right here in front of me, but I miss you, Mon," he continued, voice shaky. "You are a controlling pain in the ass, but only because you are so passionate about everything. God, that's what I love most about you, even if it makes you stubborn as hell. You're so passionate. Seriously, I wish I was one tenth as passionate about anything as you are about everything," he continued, looking her in the eye as he came closer, getting a slight smile out of her for that. "But now," he shook his head. "That's gone. That brightness in your eyes, it's gone. Your passion for life, it's gone. I can't even remember the last time you cooked for all of us, and I know that's one of your greatest pleasures in life," he paused taking a deep breath. "I'm going to use a sentence that the therapist my parents sent me to after they got divorced would be incredibly pleased to hear me construct: Mon, I feel sad when you don't eat because you're killing yourself, and I don't know how to live without you. Please…get help."
Monica closed her eyes, trying hard to swallow the lump in her throat. If only it were that easy. If only she could just want to get better and get better. If only she felt like she was ready for that. If only she felt she were even worthy of that. If only her only fear wasn't losing this part of her life, this control. If only hating being fucked up was enough of a reason not to be.
If only it were that simple.
"I can't," she choked out, and before she could even open her eyes again, Chandler was gone, the front door slamming shut behind him.
~.~
In case you hadn't noticed from my frequent updates, I'm trying very hard to get as much of my stories done as possible before my super crazy summer of two jobs, an internship, and my final class before graduation begins. Reviews help speed the process along, so thanks for them, and keep it up, please!
Btw, I know no one goes and actually listens to lyrics posted in fics, but…Tristan Prettyman is ah-mazing. And the first time I heard the song I posted at the beginning of this chapter, I cried. Go check her out.