Chandler's P.O.V
"Hey? Chandler?"
A voice drags me out of the sea of thoughts my brain has been swimming in, and for a second, I can't remember where I am and how I got here. It takes me a moment to realise that I'm in an Italian restaurant that the girl Phoebe set me up with likes, having dinner with said girl.
What's her name again?
"Wha- Oh, yeah, sorry," I mumble awkwardly, focusing my eyes back onto my date, who is sat opposite me.
"That's ok," she replies politely. But I know it's not. I've been pretty much the worst date ever, hardly talking throughout the entire meal.
"I've just got a lot on my mind," I say, stabbing my chocolate brownie with my fork and taking a bite just to avoid looking at her.
"Don't worry about it. Everyone zones out from time to time," she insists, still smiling. I grin back, doing my best to make some small talk, asking where she's from, what her job is, the usual.
I didn't zone out - not really. My mind was too busy worrying about Joey. Why wouldn't he tell me what's up? He tells me everything, literally everything; sometimes more than I want to know. So it must be something pretty big for him to remain silent.
Maybe it's something he's ashamed of?
"You're still not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?" the girl roles her blue eyes, seeming really irritated now, which is understandable.
"Look, I'm sorry," I say honestly, taking her hand. She looks unimpressed.
There's an awkward silence in which she fiddles with a lock of her brown hair, determinedly not looking at me, and I open and close my mouth like a demented fish as I try desperately to think of something to say. Suddenly, she takes her other hand from mine and looks at her watch.
"I'm sorry, I've just remembered I have to go," she stands up, pulling her handbag over her shoulder and smoothing her blue dress.
"I'm really sorry, please don't go," I beg.
"I've just got a, er... big presentation at work tomorrow and I have to be in early," she says. I know she's lying and I think she knows that I know. I'm about to protest further but I know I can't make her forgive me.
"Ok," I sigh. She gives me a fleeting smile that doesn't reach her eyes and hurriedly leaves the restaurant. I sip my coffee, which has gone cold by now, and my mind falls back into the endless pit of questions.
The main one being: what is up with Joey?
Joey's P.O.V
Don't pull. Don't pull. Don't pull.
I sigh, adjusting myself so that I'm sat on the windowsill in a more comfortable position.
"You ok?" Monica walks past me, munching on a cookie.
"Yeah, just a little tired," I reply.
"Why don't you come sit with us?" she asks. Crap. I don't want to make anyone else suspicious.
"Oh, um... I'm keeping an eye out for the hot girl - her apartment is on the floor under Ugly Naked Guy's," I lie quickly, turning my gaze back to the window.
"Joey, you're such a creep," Mon goes back to the sofa, resting her head on Ross's shoulder.
"Like we didn't already know that?" Rachel says from the armchair. Phoebe nods in agreement but doesn't take her eyes off the TV (I think she has a crush on one of the characters in the movie).
"Shut up," I try not to sound too serious, but it is annoying. Especially when I'm not being a creep... well, not this time anyway.
I'm sat alone so that the guys don't realise I'm sitting on my hands in an attempt to stop them reaching my hair and tugging it out. I don't know why it's suddenly got so much worse. Why the temptation to pull has been so great recently.
Focus on the film. That's all. You shouldn't even feel the need to pull now - you're not stressed.
But I want to...
No. You can't.
Just one strand.
No.
My brain is in this constant battle with itself, like the angel and the devil in me are in a wrestling match where the prize is controlling my actions.
I remove my hands from under my legs as they are beginning to feel numb; my fingers instantly fly to my hair, running through the thin, dark locks. It feels nice and I am instantly calmer, but it doesn't give the release that pulling does.
No. No more pulling.
To distract myself, I get up and reach for the cookie jar on the kitchen counter. It's filled with chocolate ones, made by Monica. I take a bite and let out a small sigh... I love having a chef friend. Once I've finished it, I sit back down, snuggling up on the cushions, and enjoy the film.
Another half hour later, the movie is finished; Ross and Phoebe say goodnight and leave the apartment. Meanwhile Monica busies herself washing up the plates from dinner and Rachel heads off to her room. The living room is silent except for one noise - the sound of hairs being pulled from my scalp.
WHAT?! How can I not realise I'm doing it? There's a lot here, all over the windowsill, all over my clothes...
Picking the hairs up as subtly as I can, I tip them down the side of the sill. Monica hears me as I try to sneak out of the apartment unnoticed.
"Night, Joe. And by the way, stop trying to look at girls across the street. They're gonna start complaining soon," she says sternly.
I bite back the temptation to tell her that I wasn't; instead I just mumble an agreement and leave the room swiftly. I lean against the front door, sighing with frustration, cursing my stupid hands for sneaking back to my hair without me even realising.
The devil always wins in my head.