The trail had become cold, much like the air outside. An hour of searching every nook and cranny of this damned hospital, and Joey still couldn't find him. Chandler was just too fast. Adding in the fact that his emotions were also running wild, he could've been halfway to Canada by now. New York was huge in its own accord, and running around the city at midnight wasn't safe; Ross proved that. This didn't flinch Joey at all, however; he needed to find Chandler, and quickly. He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to his best friend.
To recall those memories they shared together, to think that not one of them had Chandler feeling as bad as he did now, it hurt Joey. The countless amount of times he had broken up with Janice, the time she had cheated on him, and the time that Susie chick left him in her panties on that double date, all of them were mere disappointments compared to this.
Only twenty minutes earlier, Rachel had walked into his apartment, skin whiter than snow. Joey stood up to see what was going on, but was met with the cry to end all cries. She forcefully pulled herself into him, in an attempt to quell the screaming she so desperately needed to do, but couldn't. She tried to speak after that, but her sobbing had made anything she could possibly say effectively incoherent. As he took her into his arms, and watched as the gurney carried Monica away. He couldn't cry; Rachel was doing more than enough for the both of them.
Joey fretted entering Ross's room after the incident; and with good reason. He knew something like this would happen with Chandler, and he didn't have much time to prepare. A slight debate outside settled that Rachel would tell Ross, and Joey would tell Chandler. He didn't even finish, however, as Chandler bolted out the door. Joey could see the panic in his eyes, and it was terrifying. Joey's heart skipped at that moment. Chandler had changed, for worse. After nodding at Rachel and Phoebe, he left to give chase. Joey caught a glimpse of his best friend scrambling through the halls like a professional football player, and it was surreal. Something in him snapped, and it would not repair itself anytime soon. Deciding to take the easy road out, Joey headed down to the first floor. He sped towards the front desk, already very tired, and took extremely short breaths as he spoke.
"Yeah, uh, did you see a guy run through here?" He bent down, putting his hands to his knees to ease his aching muscles.
The petite receptionist pointed toward the sliding doors leading outside, which caused Joey to whine loudly. Putting his hand to his forehead, Joey whittled down his anxiety and paced out of the hospital.
It was pitch-black, and his body was near collapse. Joey could see his own breath in the frigid air, and his hands began shaking almost instantly. It wasn't supposed to be this cold. Hell could've frozen over and it wouldn't compare to this night. He shook it off, however, as there were much more important things to worry about. Bracing himself, Joey beheld the ground in front of him, of which he could only see a few feet. There was one logical place Chandler could be, but millions of places his emotions could be, dragging his limp and broken husk of a man with them. So, unwittingly, Joey stalked his way back to the apartment, unaware that Chandler was only a head turn away. His mind was emptier than usual as he crossed the streets, each one looking exactly the same as the last. The thoughts he did have were interspersed with the suffering of him and his friends. To see them all break down like that, it was destructively heartbreaking. Granted, he cried as well, for both Ross andMonica, but he felt that he wasn't as sad as everyone else; it killed him. To think that he didn't care as much as the rest of them, to think that he didn't feel what the others felt, the very thought ripped his heart and stomped it on the curb. Shaking his head painfully, Joey did his best to null the pent-up remorse.
Before he had realized it, Joey was outside of his building.
He trudged up the steps to his apartment like a slave on the pyramids. Joey hadn't felt so alone before, so unsure of the future, and so lost in his feelings. Reaching the door to apartment 19, Joey pulled his key out. His hands were shaking yet again. Several unsuccessful attempts at unlocking the door later, he pushed open the door to the dark apartment. It felt so corrupt, like some sort of evil presence was inside. If only Phoebe was there to analyze this. It was like a cheesy horror film, and Joey was about to die from the foosball table exploding or something strange like that. Nothing happened, thankfully. Joey flipped the light switch and life had returned to the room in the form of floating dust and that native but foul smell- of which neither Chandler nor Joey knew what- filled his nostrils, bringing that feeling of home back again. Warmth had returned, and Joey felt much better.
Grabbing a beer out of the empty fridge, Joey staggered over to his barcalounger. The caress of the black leather felt nicer than the touch of any woman, and the smell of the bubbling beverage that he cracked open put him in a bath of Guinness. Once he brought the bottle to his lips, he shot up out of the recliner. In his reverie, he had completely forgotten as to why he was even here.
"Chandler?" Joey's voice broke as he yelled in a somewhat soft tone.
Hearing no response, he peeked into every room, every spot, and every hiding place. Nothing. Chandler was never here, and Joey didn't have the energy to hunt through the city. He cursed as he sat back into his recliner, taking a swig from the beer, wishing it would turn into whiskey. He picked up the remote, and switched on the TV to break the eerie calm.
Days of Our Lives.
There he stood as Dr. Drake Ramoray, ready to reattach someone's spinal cord or use a laser to treat a brain tumor. Ross had always told him that those things weren't possible yet with modern medicine, but he didn't listen. He didn't even care; it was just a TV show. Since the accident, however, Joey wished he could do all of those things. To ease the pain even a little would satisfy him. That white coat and those big and fancy words would actually make him feel like he was making a difference. If only he had listened to Ross more. He was the smartest guy in the world to Joey. Those little false anecdotes of which only Ross thought were funny, were now memories. Painful memories. So Joey gazed tearfully into the TV, watching Drake saving people's lives and bringing them back from the dead. Even if it was fake and scripted, he still felt like he was doing something good. He was a hero to his patients. How much he wanted to be a hero to his friends. To save them all, to protect them, it felt like it was his duty. He would have gladly taken that bullet for Ross. Sure, he was an actor and a womanizer, which gave plenty of people reason not to trust him, but he loved his friends more than any of the thousands of women he had slept with.
It had hit Joey so hard even his sisters could feel it.
He had never been in love.
He had never held a picture frame of an ex-girlfriend and cried, or spent the night with someone that didn't end in sex. He had never walked on the beach hand-in-hand with a beautiful woman and didn't think about how good she'd be in bed. He had never thought once of marrying someone and spending his mortal life with her. The thought of what he could be possibly missing out on almost asphyxiated him. Those couples who seemed so happy: Ross and Rachel, Monica and Richard, maybe the future Chandler and Monica, etc. Why couldn't he have that? Was there something wrong with him? There had to be. The way he treated women like objects and how nothing was ever serious felt so wrong now. Joey felt like such a waste of space. Everyone was slowly moving on from everything that had happened, but here he was, a failing actor, struggling to pay the bills, and dreadfully lonely. No one-night stand would fix that.
A knock on the door pulled him from his muse.
He tried to sound gaily. "It's open." But his tone was turned to that of heartbreak. Joey turned the barcalounger around to face whomever was at the door. He took one last drink, and set the empty beer bottle on the ground.
The door opened to reveal Rachel and Phoebe, both of whom looked exhausted.
"What're you guys doing here?" Joey asked, clearing his throat.
"Ross insisted that we go home early." Rachel replied, mockingly.
Joey nodded, preoccupied in his thoughts.
"I'm guessing you couldn't find Chandler? Phoebe crossed her arms and walked over to the recliner, resting against the arm.
Joey again nodded, this time in refusal.
He tried his best not to show weakness, but a single rebellious tear made it's way down his cheek to his chin. Unable to wipe it away without making it obvious that he was crying, Joey withstood the tingling sensation that tortured him. It was futile, however, as Phoebe lifted up his chin and looked into his opaque pupils. They were so foggy that she could see herself in them. Turning away and frowning, Rachel came over to her, but as she reached for a hug Phoebe immediately put her arms around Joey instead. Rachel soon followed, knowing that she was needed in their clasp of wooden friendship.
The wood that would never break.