AUTHOR'S NOTE: Our longest chapter! I'll be honest, this one spiraled out of my control as i wrote it, and the tone ended up being a lot more different than I imagined. I hope this doesn't feel too abrupt considering the events of the last chapter. I was considering writing a "filler" chapter inbetween but honestly couldn't think of anything to actually write that sounded interesting (and im slowly running out of song lyrics for chapter titles WHOOPS) so I just added everything I needed to in this one and tried my best to balance it all out and have everything feel natural. I know I say this all the time, but this is definitely the most difficult chapter I've had to write. I was a little scared to post this chapter since i'm not too sure how i feel about it, but it's not like I can just not post it, so I hope you enjoy anyway!
"Shhh, or they'll hear us!"
"Oh, please, how could they hear us?"
Chandler looked to the door, before back at Monica. "Because God hates me, so somehow, everyone will be able to hear us."
On a not-so-eventful afternoon, Chandler figured he'd kill some time during his break by calling Monica over and "seeing where the day goes". For them, this used to be secret code for nothing more than sex; but in recent times, they've found themselves filling their time with simple banter. This shouldn't have been some extraordinary thing, but given their recent communication drought, it was something he appreciated dearly. Many nights were spent together and yet sexless– the two drifting off into the night after discussing their shared struggles of secrecy from their roommates and Phoebe's annoying investigation that wasn't slowing down anytime soon. Those nights became his favourite.
It was astonishing just how well Monica understood him; even after years of friendship, she still manages to surprise him. It was no secret that Chandler hated to be open– or genuinely, at least. Any mention of his feelings came with tasteless jokes and a quick distraction away from himself; but with Monica, all those fears of judgement washed away. Looking into her eyes put him in a trance, hypnotising him to say things he's never told anyone before. At this point, she probably knew him better than his own parents– which, actually, could be said about a lot of people. Scratch that, she knew him better than himself. She knew how he ordered his coffee and she knew how he avoids looking in the mirror as often as possible. Part of him thinks he wouldn't mind giving away the sex if it meant having these comforting conversations every day.
Was Chandler still worried? Absolutely. One wrong move could mean the end of their friendship. If he wasn't careful, he'd become attached to her– her attention would become his fuel and he'd cease to function once she moved on. Which, in all honesty, wasn't much different to how he always was. For as long as he could remember, she was always the first one he turned to after a breakup, or the first one he'd look to after telling a joke, making sure it landed well. It wasn't anything big, she was just a close friend. The one she's known the longest, after Ross– but she gets a leg up since she actually learnt empathy sometime during her childhood.
But now wasn't the time for worry, because right now, he had Monica laid over underneath him on his desk, with all of his belongings scattered on the floor. He'd gotten lost in her blue eyes, dark with desire, as if he were drowning in the ocean; so much so, he'd almost forgotten where they were. His loosened tie dangled right above her eyes, but before he could swing it off, she yanked him down for one final deep kiss. Quickly, the post-coital clarity came over as it dawned on him how awful it'd be for someone to walk in on them in this compromising position. He hurriedly jumped off of her and began buttoning up his shirt, but failed to get past even the first button; sometimes it feels like these shirts were made to deliberately give him a hard time. Rough mornings where he's already behind schedule and late for work, and he's occupied with shoving a button through the smallest hole known to man– but soon, he's reminded that no one is out for him and he only has his own incompetence to blame, because then Monica assists him with dressing himself up. Her steady fingers worked impossibly quick, it almost made him dizzy watching her hands work through to the bottom of his shirt. She was already dressed back into her old The Cranberries graphic tee and dark coloured jeans; somewhere along the way, she had completely optimised the process of putting herself together in the knick of time– but Chandler was still a little behind.
Her face, that was previously blushed pink, now contorted into an unhappy expression. "What's wrong? Tired of dressing me up?" asked Chandler, pushing her front strands of hair behind her ears to get a better look at her.
She responded simply. "I still feel bad."
Chandler let out a deep sigh, with only God knowing how many times he's had to reassure her of the same thing today– "Monica, it's okay that you took a day off work. It's not a big deal."
"I'm not even sick, or injured, or anything! Everyone's probably talking about how weak I am right now, while I'm gone." Monica complained, placing Chandler's tie around his neck and fastening it; this was a job he was completely capable of on his own, but she liked doing it for him. Occasionally she'd do some complicated pattern that took Chandler forever to undo, leading him right back to her later that day.
"Well, to be fair, they'd still be doing that even if you came in." Chandler told her the bitter truth, and Monica hates how completely right he is.
Monica was by no means a quitter, but all she wanted to do was pack her things and bid farewell to the people of Allesandro's forever. Working with incompetent, bitter, and hateful associates every day was the most draining thing she had ever done. It gave her rarely any time or energy to pursue serious romantic interests– probably why she's been slumming it with Chandler, he assumes– and left her doubting herself all of the time. Chandler, on many occasions, would encourage her to keep doing her best and not let the others distract her, because she's Monica Geller who never gives up; but seeing the severe negative impact this job has had on her, he wishes that just once she could consider backing down, for her own sake.
"I'm just so tired, Chandler. I don't want to do this anymore." She groaned, sinking her forehead right against his chest in personal defeat.
"Then why are you still doing it?"
"Because I want to do this." Her voice was muffled against his blazer, her determination barely squeaking through.
Enough with the simple quips– they were back to the point where Chandler felt comfortable with consoling her again, no longer afraid of the intimacy he'd been running away from. He slowly stroked the top of her head, hating himself for being unable to instantly cure her pain. Sex could only do so much for the soul. "Mon', you know how great I think it is that you're so passionate about this– but is it really worth it if it's causing you so much trouble?"
She didn't move an inch against him. "Because, Chandler, who knows when I'll get another opportunity like this? I'm not sure how many more head-chefs New York is looking for."
"Well, once the next restaurant sees you, they'll forget all about their chef and beg you to work for them. Maybe you'll leave behind your shoe, and when you return to your evil step-workers, the prince will go knocking around every restaurant looking for his beloved chef."
He could hear a giggle against his chest, followed by more questioning. "Then what if every restaurant is like this? I quit, and I go somewhere new, and it's the same thing all over again? Then I'd be right back at square one." She huffed. Monica was far too imaginative for her own good. "Even I've had bosses I hated in the past."
"Ohhh, like the time you set up a tomato sauce contraption for your boss, right?" He rehashed an old, unsavoury memory. One day, Monica walked through the kitchen door and was immediately doused in tomato sauce. Chandler remembers this particular instance of workplace harassment more clearly because she came home covered in red, and he immediately said "The skunk got you too, huh?", and everyone laughed; even Monica fought back a smile. He was so proud of coming up with that instantly.
But she's likely had enough of his sarcasm, so he added a more genuine statement. "If I were you, I would have left a long time ago."
"Except that you haven't!" Monica exclaimed, pointing her figure at him in a 'gotcha!' style. Sure, it was at his expense, but he was just glad to see that spark in her eye return. "You've been working here a lot longer than I have, you have zero excuses for being here still."
"It's not that easy! I'd have nowhere else to go if I quit!" He walked around to pick up all of his belongings that were thrown onto the ground. The grand gesture of shoving everything off your desk was great for setting the mood– but as he's realising now– a pain in the ass to clean up. "You, however, could cater for heaven if you wanted to."
He picked up the mini desk-clock he kept, realising his break was unfortunately over.
"Well, I guess that's my cue to leave." Monica said.
"Come on, just sit around here while I work, no one will notice!" Chandler held her hands into his and begged; something he does an awful lot when he's with Monica, he noticed. Having her around calmed his nerves, which was needed for a job as intense as data reconfiguration. "If you leave, I think the walls might crash in and kill me."
"Oh, please!" She laughed, playfully shoving his hands away. "You're fine, Chandler. You're going to see me right after work."
"Yeah, but consider, I hate this place and it makes me want to kill myself."
"Don't do that. I'll be waiting for you when you get home, okay? You just need to stay strong for a couple more hours, and then we can do whatever you want. Together." She smiled, rubbing his arms affectionately. "Maybe we can actually grab lunch."
Her voice soothed him like a lullaby. "If you bought me lunch every time I felt like this, you'd lose your apartment."
"Then I'll just go across the hall. There's this guy who lives there– he's kind of weird, but I'm sure he'll let me stay with him. He's pretty great once you get to know him."
"Is that so? You should introduce us sometime." He grinned, sitting down on top of his desk and pulling her close to him. "At least let me come with you to the front? I need the walk."
"Right, because you need physical activity." She said wryly, lowering her palms from his elbows to his hands and leading him out the door, where they'd immediately cease their embrace.
The two left his office without turning any heads; usually, if one were to see a beautiful woman consistently come in-and-out of your boss' office, you'd naturally assume she was his girlfriend. Lucky for Monica, she'd been visiting Chandler for years and had built up a reputation of being the sweet girl who dropped off lunch whenever Chandler forgot to bring his own and begged her over the phone for something homemade, perhaps as an excuse just to have someone around as opposed to eating alone in whatever restaurant was close by. Everyone working for Chandler must have known anyway that he wasn't capable of dating someone as gorgeous as she; so the idea likely, and hopefully, hadn't crossed anyone's minds– even when she was visiting much more frequently now.
But the news didn't reach everyone in the building.
Before reaching the exit, the two bumped into Oscar; an acquaintance of Chandler's, and one of the few people that bothered to talk to him. He held a similar position to Chandler but was promoted long after him, which resulted in a sort of resentment for the boy who barely tried and got ahead anyway. This envy became obvious when their conversations shifted from last night's game to what Chandler's plans for the company's future was; because both of them knew he didn't have any.
"Chandler! Good to see you!" Oscar greeted, patting his shoulder as if they hadn't met in a long time– they saw each other yesterday. "Leaving for your lunch break? This late? Sure you'll make it back on time?"
"I'm sure." was Chandler's only response, not wanting to entertain him any further. It's not that he disliked Oscar, but it's that he was sure Oscar disliked him, and that's just miserable company to keep around. Despite the man's bitterness, he never hesitated to strike up a conversation with Chandler.
"Whatever you say– I trust you, Bing!" He replied, shoving his elbow into Chandler like a good friend might. He did that thing Chandler hated where he said his last name in that stupid high-pitched voice. Not only was it unfunny, but plain unoriginal at this point. When will he get a new joke?
With no chance for the pair to weasel out, Oscar finally took notice of the casually dressed woman standing next to him. Her discomfort was evident; folding her hands behind her back and looking around as if she were far removed from this conversation, which she almost was. She should have dressed up nicer than this.
"Well, aren't you going to introduce us, Bing?" Oscar pestered. Nevermind, maybe Chandler did dislike this guy. He had this cadence that bothered him– or maybe the idea of someone wanting to talk to him was just inherently annoying.
"Right. My bad. Monica, this is Oscar. He broke into this building a long time ago and no one bothered to kick him out."
Oscar forced out a laugh. "Oh, Chandler! You kidder! This guy, he kills me, really. Always joking around."
"Oh, believe me, I know." Monica agreed, to Chandler's surprise. He raised an eyebrow to her, shocked with this sudden alliance, and she returned a mischievous grin.
"And Oscar, this is Monica, she's my…"
Simple enough of a sentence. Just introducing someone to a girl he's known for nearly a decade. She's his…well, y'know. She's…I mean, you get it. Monica is…why couldn't a single word come to mind?
She's my neighbour. But that left out way too many details.
She's my best friend's sister. But it felt almost offensive to reduce her to just that.
She's my friend. But that never felt enough.
Would you call someone just a friend when they're the person you're most excited to talk to every day? Was Monica still just a friend after all the nights they spent exploring each other, reaching heights of pleasure he wasn't even aware were possible? Was she a friend the next morning, when her body is trapped in his arms and she tries her very best to get up without waking him, ultimately deciding it'd be better to stay within his touch? When he finally wakes up and asks why she hasn't left yet, and she answers that it's because he was too cute to leave stranded in her bed, and he's filled with warmth when she's willing to delay her morning routine just to spend more time with him? Those secret competitions when they're walking behind their friends to see who can land the most quick kisses on the other person's lips before being caught, and the longer, more passionate kisses they share when they finally get away? The hours he's spent laying on her lap and telling her every deep, dark fear he thought would kill him if he ever faced? Do friends do all of that?
Clearly he's acting weird, because Oscar is looking at him expectantly, and Monica is looking at him even more expectant, but nothing is coming out. He has no idea how to describe her in a way that fully captured all the good she did for him. It wasn't important to let Oscar in on the in's-and-out's of their relationship, because Oscar didn't even know Chandler's favourite colour; it was scary that Chandler didn't have an answer for himself. There was nothing he could say that accurately summarised how he felt about her.
"I'm one of his friends." Monica's voice cut through his introspection, causing him to flinch– which definitely helped him look normal. "And I was just about to leave, it was nice to meet you, Oscar."
The two exchanged head nods. Monica turned to Chandler, giving him a simple wave and then left the building. A chilling sensation went over his cheek as it missed her usual kiss goodbye; of course, they couldn't do much in front of all the nearby meandering workers, but he still missed it. Now he was just left with Oscar.
"She's a pretty lady." The stupid awful man who was somehow still there said. Chandler's not even sure why he hates him so much now. "What's her situation?"
"What do you mean her situation?"
"Y'know…is the house unlocked? Is the maiden's window open? Does the cage have a key?" He rambled, eyebrows rising with each nonsensical sentence he spat out. "God, Bing– is she single?"
Who the hell asks it like that!?
All he could chalk it up to was "...it's complicated."
Because, technically, Monica was single; but there was no way in hell he'd be telling Oscar that. Only because he knows Monica would never be interested in someone like Oscar, no other reason. Chandler pushed past the annoying man back to his office, ready to chain himself to his desk and dream of the clock striking five.
Once work was finally done, he gleefully packed up his belongings and made his way back to his apartment building. Though he had a pep in his step now that work was over, he wasn't exactly in a good mood. Work always left him a little sour afterwards, but as it was nothing more than him simply hating his job, there wasn't much he could do about the feeling besides waiting for it to subside– but now, he had a beautiful girl waiting for him who he knew would lend a listening ear and soothe his negativity. This was the best!
He skipped his way up the stairs, heading straight to the apartment across from his without a second thought. It became easy to forget that his home was actually apartment 19, and this definitely did not sit well with his roommate.
"Where have you been?" He recalls a time when he came home to find Joey sitting in the barcalounger facing the door, arms crossed. His face was stern and he looked disgruntled, almost as if he had been waiting there for a long time. "Your pasta's cold."
Chandler gave a quick glance to the half-eaten tupperware pasta on the counter; he remembers smelling it from the hallway but assumed it was coming from Monica's apartment. "Sorry, Dad."
He dropped his coat on the pool table next to him and headed straight for his room, not without Joey getting up and interrogating him further. "Aren't you gonna eat? It's late."
"Nah, I already had dinner." Chandler excused. His casual tone seemed to peeve Joey even further.
"Where?"
"Y'know, out."
"And you weren't gonna call?" Asked Joey, hands now on his hips. Why was he so upset? Maybe he needs a secret hookup of his own– actually, Joey has a full phonebook of hookups, so why was he so upset?
"It slipped my mind, I'm sorry." Chandler replied, and while he didn't sound sorry at the time, he really was! It's just hard to sound sad when you're coming down from cloud nine.
"Alright, no more funny business, what are you doing, Chandler?" Joey walked around the chairs and in front of Chandler's bedroom door, effectively blocking his escape, because lord knows Chandler in a million years could never push Joey aside. "I'm gettin' seriously worried, man. I don't like all this sneaking around. Where are you going at night? Why do you keep coming back so late?"
"It's nothing, Joe, it's just work stuff." Chandler should just get that tattooed on his tongue and stick it out with how often he has to use that excuse.
"What work stuff needs you to go in on Friday, and come home Saturday?"
Chandler put on an annoyed tone. "What, you're timing me now?"
"Yeah, I am, 'cuz it's weird that you're out at some mysterious place all the time and you won't tell me– or anyone else– where you're goin'."
"Well, have you considered that it's none of your business?" Chandler retorted. "Besides, I'm not out all the time!" The post-sex high began to wear off, leaving him crabby in the middle of the night. Wait, or was this a different memory? Was this the night that he and Monica watched Pretty Woman? No, can't be, because he remembers falling asleep on the couch with her after that. Maybe this was the night they talked about their parents, and then– as ashamed as he is to admit it– Chandler shed real tears as they recounted his childhood experiences, and she had to explain that no loving parent would be so neglectful; but that wouldn't make sense, because he would have came home a sobbing mess. So maybe they did have sex that night and nothing more? God, Joey was right– he did visit Monica all the time.
As usual, Joey would grow tired and just take Chandler's words as truth, retreating to his bed with an unenthusiastic goodnight. It's tough to admit but this arrangement has been putting a strain on his other friendships– Phoebe and Joey's trust slowly dwindling, and Rachel beginning to feel more like a nuisance that blocks him from Monica instead of the friend he loves, and don't even get him started on the sleeping beast: Ross. God, if Ross finds out, it's all over. He'd completely crossed a line by sleeping with his sister. For some reason, this realisation only hit him after the twelfth time he and Monica had sex– approximate value, I'm not some weirdo that keeps count. Quickly, Chandler remembers that it actually isn't very nice to sleep with your best friend's little sister and then lie to everyone for months about what you're doing or how you aren't dating anyone yet or why you won't come down to the coffee house anymore. Maybe he really was a bad person.
And as the bad person he was, none of this stopped him from opening the door to apartment 20 and strolling in, because it looked weird for him to be stopped in the hallway for so long and do nothing but recount old memories.
Monica sat reading on the couch, immediately whipping her head around to face the door. The usual spark of excitement in her eyes that he loved to see wasn't there, so no quick ego-boost for him today.
"Rachel is home, y'know." She said quietly. Her roommate's door was closed.
Chandler hummed a simple "I know" before sitting down next to her, crossing one leg over the other and sinking back into the cushion. He was only looking for simple conversation, possibly even talk about Joey to help get the pressure off his shoulders, but Monica held a stale look that piqued his curiosity.
"What's on your mind?" He asked.
"Earlier today," she began, putting her book aside, "Why couldn't you tell Oscar that we're friends?"
…fuck. Chandler was somewhat hoping she wouldn't have noticed his impossible-not-to-notice silence.
His eyes darted around the room, as if there were some teleprompter that could save him. "Just– he'd be all weird about it, y'know? Bing is friends with a pretty lady! Wowza!" he mocked.
Her sharp blue eyes almost pierced right through him. "Right, I was just getting the sense that you were trying to hide me."
"Hide you? From what?"
"Oh, I don't know, every single person we know?" Monica's voice was strained, clearly holding something back; something Chandler was very afraid of.
"I'm not trying to hide you from anyone, Mon'. I just didn't think Oscar needed to know about us."
"And what is there to know?" She asked a simple question, but Chandler could tell it was all leading up to something horrible. Before giving him a chance to answer, she continued speaking. "I mean, is it so hard to just say the word 'friend'? Is it that difficult? You had no problem saying it before."
"Well…that was before we…" this is so awful and I hate every second of this "...started talking. Again."
She stood up, staring down at him, which made Chandler feel very, very small. "So now we're something else?"
"Okay, what's going on?" Chandler asked obtusely, as if he couldn't tell before that she was upset. "Joey and Phoebe have been interrogating me enough, I don't need whatever this is."
"I just want to know! In your own words, Chandler, what am I to you? If not your friend, what else?"
If only he knew himself.
Not that he needed to come up with an answer, because she clearly wasn't going to let him speak. "I'm not your friend, I'm not your girlfriend, so what? Am I just your sex-doll to keep you company while you look for another girl? Or am I your part-time shrink?" The venom in her words felt all too familiar.
"Hey, hey, hey, woah! Hello? Roommate home?" Chandler cocked his head towards Rachel's door. "And– God, I don't even know where to begin with what you just said!"
"Start with how I'm not your friend, apparently."
"I never said that, Monica." He stood up, now gaining back his height advantage, but that didn't stop her from looking as intimidating as she looked. "Oscar just caught me off guard. Besides, can you blame me? Most friends don't really do what we do."
"Yeah, most friends talk to each other in public." She walked away to the kitchen and casually grabbed herself a glass of water, likely to sting the wound they previously sealed. "Fun fact, Chandler? It actually feels really shitty only seeing your friend when he wants to have sex."
"Hey, I fixed that! We talk all the time!"
"In private! Like I'm some sort of secret!" A sudden spark– and not the kind that Chandler liked– appeared in her eyes. "That's it, huh? I'm just your mistress. Then when your real wife comes along, you'll throw me away and we go back to being 'friends', if you could even say the word."
The last thing he wants is to be angry, because he hates being angry, especially at Monica, but she was like his amplifier– more often than not, she could make him feel really good, and sometimes she could make him feel really bad.
"So what, all the late-night and the morning and the evening talks aren't enough for you? Do you want me to just move in here? Surgically attach myself to you like some sort of parasite?" It hurt to hear Monica bring this problem up again now that Chandler was sacrificing his time with everyone else to be with her. At least he didn't sound too angry, considering he had to speak quietly. "I don't know why you're acting like I forced you into this, you agreed with every single part of this! Hell, you came up with half of those stupid rules!"
"I just don't get why you can't treat me regularly anymore, Chandler! You flinch when I sit near you, do you realise that? Do you think that makes me feel good?" Her angry tone sounded a lot more distressed now. "I'm just…I want you to be honest with me, Chandler, for just a second. Where is this going? When one of us finds a date, what becomes of this?"
He gulped; he hadn't really thought that far. His dream was to let this low-commitment arrangement go on until the day he died, but obviously that wouldn't work for Monica. Chandler had to face the reality that she wanted things he could never give her.
"Well, we'll go back to normal, won't we?" He asked, almost fearful.
"Do you think we can do that?"
Their fury dissipated, and in the mist around them was uncertainty and sorrow. After all these rules, compromises, periods of radio-silence and long talks to mend it, maybe it was too late. They crossed the line; or rather, they couldn't find the line. Everything bled together to form this dependency that Chandler can't discern. As much as they tried to avoid this mess, keep their different relationships neat and tidy and in their respective lanes, they had to deal with this collision of Everything they created; and that's the only way he could describe her.
"Everything."
Monica looked at him confused. "What?"
"You want to know what you are to me? Everything." He reiterated. "And I'm scared of that, Monica. I can't handle Everything. You're a great girl– you're an amazing girl, and suddenly, I have this amazing girl who listens to me when I'm down and likes me enough to have sex with me and makes even the worst of days a little bit better, and it's scary because I know this isn't what you want."
He couldn't bear to look her in the eyes, the amount of pity she probably has on her face right now is unimaginable. "And I don't know when I'll get an amazing girl again, so I wanted to hold onto this– whatever this even is– for as long as possible, because fuck, Monica, it's nice! Can you really stand there and say this isn't nice?"
She might just laugh at him, who wouldn't? Chandler is a guy trapping an amazing girl into this soulless friends-with-benefits relationship because it's the most adoration he'll ever receive in his life; but to his surprise, she didn't laugh. She let out, in a voice so small it was barely above a squeak, "It is really nice."
"And I like nice, I need nice, but you need…you need spectacular! You deserve spectacular!" He wasn't even making any sense anymore, but it was way too late to get off this roller-coaster of emotions he was feeling. "And it's my fault, because I convinced myself you wanted to hold onto this too, but that isn't what you want– and now I don't know if I want to go back. I can't handle losing all this…"
It's not really love. It kind of feels like it, but it's not really love. Love probably wouldn't be tormenting them for months on end, tricking them into thinking they were smart enough to handle casual sex.
"...all this affection." he finished.
Monica stood there. Stunned. Shocked? Perhaps angry; angry that Chandler strung her along this arrangement knowing she had greater interests. Or she was sad, sad that her supposed best friend was actually just a clingy loser. Maybe it was disappointment, disgust, apathy, hatred, regret– God, why won't she say anything!? Why is she standing there!? Please, Monica. Say something. Say something so I won't have to. Please, please, please, just say anything!
But she won't. She can't, really, because Rachel just walked out of her room, probably to see what all the commotion was.
"Hey, Monica do you– oh, hi Chandler!" She greeted, waddling with toe separators and what one could assume was a fresh coat of nail polish on fingernails. Her hair was tangled in curlers of various sizes– she almost looked like a mythical beast, but this was all probably preparation for another Ross-and-Rachel-dinner-date. "Do you guys hear, like, a weird whispering noise?"
The two stood in the kitchen, completely unsure of how to even react. There was just way too much going on for them to give Rachel a proper response. Almost immediately, she grew pale, a look of fear flashing across her face. "Oh my god! The ghost that was haunting Phoebe is haunting us now!"
Monica rolled her eyes. "Rachel, ghosts aren't real. It's just the wind."
"The window is closed, we can't hear the wind!" Her roommate protested.
"You know what? I don't think I want to stick around in this place if it's haunted." Chandler lied, he just needed an excuse to get out of there. For once, he was glad that Rachel was around– God, that sounds mean. When did I get so mean?
He left their apartment, no time to spare a goodbye, and headed straight to his own across the hall; dodging Joey who sat at the kitchen stool and asked about Chandler's day, finally landing in his bedroom with the door shut behind him. Rachel may have been right, there was likely a spirit flying around the girls' apartment, because something had just possessed him to unleash everything he said back there. He can't even remember exactly what thoughts he said out loud and which he mercifully kept hidden, but either way, he definitely fucked something up between him and Monica. Leave it to Chandler Bing to ruin things.
Chandler can pray that by having to deal with the scared Rachel, Monica will completely forget about today and they can go back to normal; whatever that means now. If she was smart, she'd be at the nearest bar looking for a new date so that she can finally get away from Chandler. Monica was really strong, yes, but even she must be weak to whatever Chandler had that repelled all his past girlfriends away from him. What was it that made women grow tired of him so quickly? Who was he kidding, it was everything.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this back and forth has been a lot of fun to write but we're slowly reaching the end of the rollercoaster...so once again i am asking you all to bear with me...
Again, thank you to everyone who has been reading and leaving comments! This fic reached a lot more people than I expected and seeing so many people consistently giving their thoughts and opinions on this story makes me so happy. Writing was something I always struggled with and never expected to pick it up properly, but because of you guys, it's now my main hobby! Thanks again to all of you!