"It was a mistake!"

Quiet means something different in New York City. Quiet isn't the silence that comes with night, but the passing of cars and chatter of drunken citizens who thrive in the dark. It's the draft of cold wind that sounds like a whisper, and the buzzing of neon signs that are on their last bit of power. Amidst the so-called quiet laid one girl– who prides herself on her dedication to sticking to her schedule and never running late– laying wide awake in the middle of the night. The hands on her alarm clock inched closer and closer to their set time, ready to wake the worried girl up, but she'd need no signal at this rate. She wasn't going to sleep any time soon.

"It didn't mean anything."

She stares at the popcorn ceiling as if it would tell her what to do, tracing secret messages in the texture. She lays like a corpse washed up on the shore, her blankets making no effort to shield her from the chill of the city creeping its way into her room. A slow resentment grows in her chest, replacing the comforting warmth of her duvet with an angry heat.

"So let's just forget the whole thing!"

Oh, Chandler, what do you think I was trying to do?

Monica never had problems with going to sleep, but she couldn't stop tossing and turning with each replay of their previous conversation in her head. She and Chandler agreed that their hookup was but a blip in their friendship and ultimately meaningless. Chandler was so adamant about it all, waving his arms around in the frantic manner that characterised him as her just-as-neurotic friend. Though she was aching for this resolution to come, there's a feeling in her gut that won't go away. A mix of regret and heartbreak for reasons she couldn't quite place. She wanted him to say that, she waited for Chandler to tell her that their fling meant nothing, so why did it hurt so much to actually hear the words come out of his mouth?

There was a glimmer of hope deep within her that things were different this time– a guy wanting to sleep with her for no other reason than he actually wanted to. Right before Monica kissed him, Chandler called her gorgeous— and she thought that maybe, just this once, there was a guy who wanted her because he found her genuinely attractive, not because she was just another girl who could keep him warm; but she knows why they slept together. They were both heartbroken and in the right place at the right time. Monica was just another girl he slept with to rid himself of the nagging loneliness, and Chandler was another guy who discarded her after he got what he wanted.

The quiet officially disappears as her alarm clock rings, and Monica realises she hasn't gotten a single second of sleep– if only every day were like this, then she wouldn't need to rely on caffeine as often as she does. Horrified at the thought of being late, she jumps out of bed to start her extensive pre-work routine. This past week, she's had to add a new step to her concrete procedure– cover up her hickey with concealer. She hates hickies, because no matter how hard she tries to cover them up, she knows they're still there; this disgusts her.

Emerging out of the bathroom, she notices her roommate had just gotten up and has situated herself on the couch, casually watching television.

"How come you've been waking up so early these days?" Asked Monica, running back to her bedroom to don her chef's uniform.

"You know, Mon, I think I could benefit a lot from being more like you." Rachel responded, causing Monica to halt in her operation– something she rarely does. She gave her friend a curious look, because Rachel never acknowledges what decisions are right for her.

"I just admire your ethic! You know, you wake up early, and you're never late for work!" Rachel continued, as if she were making some sort of profound observation. She turned to face her friend who was rushing around the apartment, and immediately gasped. "God! Monica, what happened to your face!?"

"I just look like this." Monica scoffed.

Rachel sighed, tired of all her friends' constant sarcastic remarks. "I'm talking about your eyebags! What happened to you last night?"

Even with the light makeup, Monica's exhaustion was still evident.

"I…didn't get very much sleep." That wasn't a lie. Just the very watered down truth.

Her friend grew more and more concerned as the days passed, recalling that this wasn't the first time Monica struggled to sleep. At this point, however, there wasn't much Rachel could say that she hasn't already– she just needed to offer Monica a shoulder to cry on, it's up to her whether she takes it or not.. As Monica walked over to the apartment door, ready to leave for work, she froze with her hand on the doorknob before swiftly turning around and whining,

"I don't wanna go to work!"

"Oh, you'll be fine! You're their boss, they should be the ones who're afraid!" Rachel asserted. She doesn't know the full extent of what her roommate's been going through at work, but it couldn't be so bad that she still needed to complain. Monica's a tough girl– she'll figure it out.

With a sigh, Monica bid goodbye and left for work. When she first started working there, she forbade herself from ever saying "I hate my job". She can hate the people, she can hate the place, she can hate the treatment– she can despise every single thing about the work she does, but she can never say she hates her job. It's just not true, she loves being a chef– but every day she works at Allesandro's, her patience wears thinner and thinner. Just how much longer can Monica continue working there before she is inevitably murdered– either by the hands of her employees or herself?

No one understands her complaining. Somewhere down the line, her friends thought Monica cared too much about her employees' negative opinions and she just needed to focus on the job itself– but it isn't that easy! To be a chef means to be part of something; you never cook alone, you rely on the hard work of your peers to create the finest of meals together. A restaurant's staff is more than just the staff– they're family; and the workers of Allesandro's are definitely aware of that, seeing that Monica replaced one of their own beloved relatives. When Monica comes back from work, she's always told that it isn't that serious.

"Who cares what they say? You're not there to make friends, you're there to cook! That's what you want to do, right?" Says Ross, who was fortunate to be in a field as niche as his that he's surrounded only by people as geeky as him.

"Oh, you're looking too deep into things! They don't hate you!" Says Rachel, who once had to help Monica cut out the tangled piece of gum that one of the other chefs stuck in her hair. Just like high school.

"Come on, you barely see these people!" Says Joey, who has never held a job for longer than two weeks.

"It's just tough love!" Says Phoebe, who needs to be told that 'tough love' is really only applicable when it's given by the authoritative figure to their subordinates, not the other way around.

She gets that her friends mean well, but they simply don't understand how difficult it all is! To be constantly ignored and shunned by the people who are supposed to respect you; to be othered in the place that you're supposed to be in control of; to spend all your breaks alone because no one likes you; none of them understand what it's like. Except for Chandler. He'd say that her coworkers were losers and she just needed to ignore them, and while that advice didn't instantly solve her problems, it made her feel seen; and that's all she could really ask from him.

Thinking of Chandler leaves a pressure in her chest, an unjustified anger for him behaving the way she didn't like. It's not like they were dating– he had no reason to be as caught up in their affair as she was, he had the right to move on. After begging and begging for him to go back to back to normal, she now finds herself upset with how quickly things returned to the way they were. Was a week all he needed to recover? It took longer for him to get over Carrie.

All Monica had done was set herself up for disappointment, expecting genuine care and affection from someone who'd sleep with a trash bag if it told him "any girl would be stupid to even think of cheating on you". She should just move on like he has, because as they agreed, it was a meaningless mistake that'll never happen again. There are more important things to lose sleep over.

She reaches Allesandro's and begins her shift with giving each coworker a unique good-morning. Deep within her pockets were the cue cards she used to quickly remember each of her employee's name and basic facts about them, so that she could be the perfect head-chef that everyone loved; but with each thought-provoking question about their day, her coworkers only seemed to get more and more agitated. Monica could be the kindest and most attentive head-chef to have ever been hired for the role, but she could never win with this group of people. Everyone is stationed at their designated spot, and thus the work day begins. It was simple enough work that Monica could go on autopilot mode and the time went by quickly– so quickly, that before she knew it, it was a certain bored man's break.

"Hey, are you the chef?" Sneaking up behind Monica while she worked, Chandler decided to pay his favourite cook a visit. "You see– I happened to find a piece of hair in my meat that is not mine. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The usual joy she feels when a familiar face enters her establishment was nowhere to be found. Chandler looked around the kitchen, admiring the sparkling white interior. Monica always said it could be cleaner, but Chandler wasn't sure how that would even be possible.

"So, you'll be off soon, right? Wanna grab lunch with me?"

On most days, these two could be found frolicking around New York City together during their break times, giving each other the perfect breath of fresh air from their torturous workplaces. However, seeing Chandler cozy up to her like this made her uncomfortable. The way he was suddenly so casual again made her wonder if this past week was all some sort of crazy fever dream, but the feeling of caked-up concealer covering her neck reminded her against that.

"I'm good– I'll just get something after work." Monica dismissed him, hoping that would be the end of their conversation

Unfortunate for her, Chandler didn't get the hint. He leaned against the counter next to Monica's and crossed his arms. "No problem, we can hang out here."

She cleaned her counter with a nearby towel and hung it neatly on its hook, thinking of an excuse to get rid of Chandler in the least suspicious way possible. Monica knows she was being hypocritical– being upset that Chandler wouldn't treat her like a friend, and now being upset that he was doing just that; but she can't fight off the weird feeling in her stomach that came when he was around. The constant attempts to convince herself that their affair meant nothing didn't work, because if it did, she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't wish she woke up to Chandler's face that next morning. He didn't have the right to just go back to how things were, because Monica still had to live with the fact that she wasn't even good enough for her own friend.

"There's not much we can do here. It's fine, Chandler– you go get something without me." Monica looked around the kitchen searching for an out. "-the kitchen is dirty, I need to clean it."

But adamant Chandler wasn't going to leave without getting what he came for, as recently discovered. "Come on, you've worked enough! Can't we just go on a walk, or something?"

"Chandler, seriously, I'm busy–"

"Can I just stay here, then? And we talk while you work?" He pleaded, clasping his hands together. Monica's coworkers were now eyeing her, they weren't a fan of the boytoy Monica brought in during her breaks. Her mind is telling her to just kick him out, but when the pathetic image comes to her mind of Chandler eating alone, she couldn't bring herself to say no. As angry as one could be with Chandler, they were no match for his sad blue eyes.

"Fine– but don't touch anything!" She ordered, pointing her figure at him authoritatively.

He straightened his posture and raised his hand to his forehead, "Sir, yes, sir!"

As Chandler told anecdotes from his day so far, Monica continued shuffling around the kitchen and doing whatever little jobs she could to make her look as busy as possible. If she were to stop and talk for even one second, she'd hear whisperings of how much of a slacker she was, and she couldn't bear that hit to her currently fragile ego. She didn't pay much attention to what Chandler was talking about, offering an "uh-huh" and "really?" in between his sentences, but there was one thing he said that made her stop in her tracks.

"-and I'm thinking of asking her out."

"What?" Monica turned around swiftly, causing Chandler to almost knock into her with the sudden stop of the Monica-train.

"The girl? From my office? I'm thinking of asking her out– y'know, to distract myself from- …Carrie" He repeated.

Her name always brought a tough-to-stomach emotion to Monica. Initially, it was anger towards someone who had treated her friend so horribly. Now, it has turned into some sort of ugly acceptance. The name of the girl who came just before her; the girl that Monica served as a temporary replacement for. She was just the bandaid for Chandler's Carrie-shaped wound.

"You're going to ask a girl out just as a distraction?"

Chandler chuckled nervously. "Well, it sounds bad when you say it!"

And if things were up to Monica, she'd slap him right in the face– give him a mark of his own he'd have to cover up. Even after sleeping with Monica, he still needed more to rid his ex-girlfriend from his mind? Was that how insignificant she was to him? Monica figured that of all people, Chandler would understand the importance of truly valuing the other person in the relationship; but clearly, he was just like everyone else. No different from the guys that Chandler said weren't deserving of her.

"Hey, are you upset about something?" He asked, noticing Monica's furrowed brows and her lack of response. The question almost offended her.

"Why would I be upset?" She pushed past him, returning to her station. A loud noise following each item she slammed onto her counter, she kept her back turned to him.

Chandler stood hesitantly next to her, planning his next words like cutting wires on a ticking bomb. He decided to take her words at surface value and continue speaking. "I just don't know if I should go for it– she smiles at me when we walk past each other, so I got the impression that maybe she likes me…but this is a hot girl! A really hot girl! So what if she just sees me as some pathetic and lonely guy? A lonely guy who she knows would sleep with her no matter what? If I go for it, I'd humiliate myself! Then I'd be the creepy boss who asks his workers out! I can not give these people more ammunition to work with!"

His rambling complaints seem to find no end.

"-and what if, she does agree, and we go out for a while, who's to say she's not doing that just because she knows for a fact I'll sleep with her?"

"Because she's not a guy." Monica answered bluntly.

"Right– that is true! That is true…" he pondered for a moment, scratching his chin and slowly pacing around Monica. She could see the exact moment his focus went from his fear of embarrassment to his desire for a woman's touch. "Would pity sex really be such a bad thing? This might be the most I'll get for a really long time."

Growing tired of his self-deprecation, Monica sighed deeply.

"Chandler, you are sweet and funny, and you could have any girl you wanted if you actually aimed for more than just some quick action. Why settle for pity sex?"

It's the same thing she's been trying to tell him for years. If Chandler could see himself the way Monica saw him, he'd know just how deserving he was of a real relationship. Instead, he punishes himself with endless toxic girlfriends and one-night-stands; and somehow Monica became part of that long list.

The confident smile on his face slowly faded into a grin of shame, ducking his head to the floor. "I just need something to distract me from…her."

It was a difficult decision to make. Monica wants to comfort Chandler and convince him that there is more he could do than drown his feelings with fling-after-fling, but her anger is strong. She wants to believe that Chandler isn't heartless, because she has experienced first-hand the lengths his kindness can go, but hearing him go on and on about sleeping with a girl as nothing more than a distraction felt like knives to her chest. It's not like Monica was 100% innocent, she'd done nearly the same thing as he did– having sex with a friend to get over her own sorrows. Maybe she wasn't so upset with Chandler using her, but the regret he expressed afterwards, calling the whole thing a mistake. Not only was their sex nothing more than cheap medicine to him, he wishes he had never done it. If the Monica from that Saturday night knew her date would cancel, that Chandler would come over and things would heat up between them, she would still leave the door unlocked.

She swallowed her emotions and said with a straight face, "I think you should go for it. You'll never know what could happen."

He couldn't ignore the melancholic look on her face. "Are you sure you're okay? There's seriously nothing bothering you?"

His questions that once felt so reassuring now read like a taunt. How could Monica possibly be okay?

"Yeah, I just feel like going home."

"Well, I won't bug you anymore. I'll see you after work." He waved goodbye and left the establishment.

Watching him leave through the kitchen door, Monica mourned. Her friend who she could once rely on no matter what to always be there for her, to provide security in times of need, was now the cause of her troubles. As far as Chandler goes with forgetting that Saturday night, the mark had been made on their relationship– Monica's unsure just how much she can trust him anymore. He said all the right words to butter Monica up, have sex with her, ignore her for a week, and then ask for it all to be forgotten. The fact that Chandler couldn't care less about their hookup confirms her earlier suspicions, that she was just an easy victory to lift his spirits while grieving over his previous relationship.

All she wants is to be with the Chandler who held her close to his chest. The Chandler who's breath she could feel against her neck; the one who brushed her hair out of her face and assured her that her perfect guy was out there waiting. Now, when she looked into the apartment across the hall, she saw a man repulsed with himself after sleeping with her; a reminder of her own inadequacy. The worst of it all was that there was no one to tell this all to, because the only person who would understand asked her to forget all about it.