AN: This fic starts off weird, but it will get very dark, and will include adult, and disturbing content. It is not meant for readers under 17, or those unable to handle suggestions of a troubling nature. Please do not archive this fic without my consent, even if you archive my others. And yes, this is a Chandler-torture fic.
Monica sighed, as she entered the apartment, noting that once again, it was empty. She wondered what Chandler could possibly be doing at work this late…again. He hated his job—he always had—so why was he spending so much time there? She shook her head, and shuffled toward the bedroom—it had been a long day at work, and she was just too tired to wait up for him. She changed into boxers and a tank top, slid into the cool, soft sheets, and was asleep within minutes.
The morning sun shone through the bedroom window, and Monica turned away from the bright rays, her arm flopping over to the other side of the bed. When she realized it was empty, her eyes opened, and her head poked up slightly. She sighed. Chandler's side had not been slept in—again. What was going on with him?
They had moved in together about five months ago. Then, about two months ago, Chandler started spending more and more time at work. He started becoming more distant, and spent more nights than not sleeping on the sofa—his choice, not hers. This morning was no different. Monica emerged from her bedroom to find Chandler asleep on the sofa, fully clothed, shoes and all.
"Chandler," Monica said loudly, her arms folded.
"Mmmph," Chandler mumbled, but didn't move.
"Chandler, wake up!" Monica yelled, pulling a pillow out from under his head.
"Oomph…Mon, please," Chandler whined, and turned over.
"Get up…now," Monica seethed.
Chandler opened his eyes reluctantly, and finally pulled himself up.
"Where were you last night?" Monica questioned.
"Working," Chandler said quickly, as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"And you just worked so hard that you couldn't bother to call? Or come to bed? Or take of you goddamn shoes?" Monica's voice raised more with each question she asked.
"I—" Chandler swung his legs off of the sofa, and ran a nervous hand through his hair.
"Why do you smell like…lemon and…smoke? Are you smoking again?"
"No! No…" Chandler stood up and shrugged out of his suit coat. On the sleeve of his light blue dress shirt, was a burgundy stain.
"What's on your arm?" Monica asked, and Chandler whipped around to face her, his eyes momentarily panicky.
"It's uh…grape juice?" Chandler shrugged.
Monica took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She didn't want to ask the next question, but everything in her was telling her that Chandler was lying to her. She felt her heart ache, and her head spin. Was this it? Was this how things were going to end with her best friend…the love of her life? She opened her eyes, and looked up at Chandler. He refused to meet her gaze.
"Chandler…I know you're seeing someone. Please at least show me enough respect to tell me the truth."
Chandler looked up at Monica, and she knew, just by looking at him, that she had hit a nerve…that she was right. At that moment, she hated that she knew him so well…and hated that she didn't really know him as well as she'd thought.
"Mon…I…I really—" Chandler stuttered.
"I've been keeping track. You actually have a schedule, I've figured out. You are always very late on Mondays and Wednesdays, and you are sometimes late on Thursdays, though that only seems to be once a month or something. I just…does she know about me?" Monica asked.
"I—I don't," Chandler started.
"How can you do this and not tell me?" Monica asked, her eyes filling with tears. She refused to cry in front of him though—she quickly wiped her eyes before he turned to look at her again.
"Look Mon, this…this is a really private thing, and…I was planning on telling you eventually…"
Monica's jaw dropped. How could he be so callous about all of this? Her shoulders straightened, and she took a long step toward him, before slapping him hard across the face. He looked stunned, and she almost laughed at his ignorance.
"Get out," she said slowly, "I never want to see you again."