AN: I know, I should be working on my other stories.
I had an idea. Please, don't sue.
Disclaimer: I do not own Friends.
A nightmare, more than likely.
A nightmare of sweat and fear, colliding with his mortal body. It would not be easy to cope with; this had to have been the single worst day of his life. That was saying something, too, considering his track record. He desperately wanted to slam his fist onto the desk, breaking it in half, even though he didn't have half the strength require to do so. Either way, it would have been justified, if only by himself.
He hated that name. It broke his heart to think about, and it left him broken and destroyed. It made his chest literally ache, and sent shivers up his spine to his extremities, almost paralyzing. The fact that she didn't even had an explanation for her actions made it even worse. It wasn't as if he had done anything wrong. He treated her with respect and care, giving her attention and space whenever she needed it. But like a blade from the water, she dumped him, for absolutely no reason. It hurt, like a thousand needles puncturing his skin, and did not even do the justice of killing him.
It wasn't fair.
Everything she had said must have been a lie. It had to be. She had a look on her face that simply screamed her disregard for his feelings. Three months. Three months they had been together, and, while it seemed like a small amount of time for most, for Ross, it was a gift. He was never the outgoing type, nor had he ever considered himself 'handsome'. His car, an authentic 1972 Ford Pinto, which he had to pay for out of his own pocket, wasn't a babe magnet in any way. All he really had was his intelligence, and that meant nothing to women his age. His romantic life was failing from it's already near non-existent status; because of this, he would go to great measures for female attention.
Any female attention.
He was lucky enough to have a girlfriend at all, let alone a beauty such as Melissa. She started out as the shy, pretty girl who always borrowed a pencil from Ross, but never returned them. He was, of course, happy to help her. Eventually, after several months, he had the guts to ask her out. Even though they didn't really have any extended conversation, she accepted, and it went on from there.
For the three months they dated, Ross actually believed he mattered to someone. It was the most unbelievable experience in the world. She had kissed him, on the cheek and the lips. They held hands everywhere, and she wasn't even ashamed to be seen with him. He had never been happier.
However, things change.
Melissa chose the worst time to break up with him for no reason (Although, it wasn't as if there was a right time): Monday morning. The beginning of the day and week. For six hours a day, Ross would have to walk around with a fake smile plastered on his face. For seven days, he would have to control his grief around his family and friends as to not let it affect his judgment. No time to grieve whatsoever. All he could do was focus on school, no matter how much suffering he went through.
So, he sat in first period: History. Of course, his teacher had given a pop quiz; no better way to salt the wound, in his opinion. Like many tests, it had questions about subjects that weren't even taught yet. Although, while obscure, his mind was a bit preoccupied, to say the least. Concentration came in droves, at best, and Ross could not apply himself at all. He was ready to cry. Not twenty minutes ago his spirit was shattered; didn't he deserve a break? No. Of course not. It's teenage love. It doesn't mean anything.
No one except him even cares.
He wanted to just snap his pencil in half, and fling the pieces across the room as if they were chunks of his own soul. Not a very intimidating gesture, but it would release some of his stress, at least. However, he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was not something he would do. Ross usually thought before he acted, and he could proudly say that he had avoided trouble because of it. So, instead of doing something foolish, he steadied himself the best he could, took a deep breath, and precariously looked down towards the end of the page. Sixteen questions left. Not one of them he could bring the answer to without actually thinking about it. In the end, he chose to just sit there, motionless, beads of depressing sweat inching their way down his neck. Was it even worth it? One failed pop quiz wasn't even going to drop his grade to an A-, let alone actually infringe on his sacred 4.0 GPA.
He left the rest of the page blank. He didn't care. For the first time, his wild streak flared, even though it bordered more on absurdity than rambunctiousness. Although, he truly didn't care. He just stood up, laced with apathy. No one noticed, like usual. It was probably better that way, though; less attention means less to deal with. He put the paper face down into the basket so no one would catch his collapse while he was standing. At his desk, the most anyone would do is look at him with a disappointed head shake. That, he could take, even with a broken heart.
After sliding back into his seat, he laid his head down, and cried to himself for the rest of the hour.
The following class, Gym, seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. He could get away from it all, hanging out with the few friends he had, and doing some physical activity, even though that was his bane. It didn't matter, however; he just didn't care for anything or anyone anymore.
As he reached the locker room, his backpack strap tore a bit. It pissed him off. He had only bought it a couple days ago, at top retail price. Despite this, Ross chose to ignore it, thinking that getting angry at something so trivial was useless. He trudged to his dirty locker, but his mood lightened a bit as he saw his friend Will.
"'Sup, man. You alright?" Will asked, slipping his cleats on. He knew that they were going to play football today, which he had an advantage at due to his weight. Ross, however, was not so lucky. His lanky form would make him timber easily; this made him pout a bit more, even though it didn't really matter.
"Melissa dumped me."
"Oh, dude. That blows. I'm sorry." He didn't have any experience with women, but he could see the pain in Ross's eyes. It hurt like hell, obviously. Both for Ross, and to see his best friend in a state like this. It was as if he'd never been lower. To circumvent this, Will patted Ross on the shoulder with a brotherly frown.
"It's fine, I guess. I just wanna forget about it." He didn't really want to forget about it, but it was probably better if he did. The hatred was starting to pile up, and he just wanted to release it. Maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough, he would be able to at least bruise someone today.
Will nodded, empathizing with his friend. He couldn't really say much more to help, seeing as Ross dismissed it without further detail. Instead, he decided to help out by just being there for him, like a guy should. Most women talked about things like this; men usually kept quiet and took their minds off of it with some violence or beer.
Only the former was possible.
So, when they were on the field after running laps, Will persuaded an angry and burdened Ross to be tackle with him. It may not have been the smartest move, but Ross could probably handle it in the state he was in. The guy across from him wasn't all that big, either; he was average on all accounts. This made Ross a little happier. He wouldn't hurt the kid, but he would certainly do enough damage to get his mind off of Melissa.
It wasn't even that hard, not with so much dwindling anger behind it.
For the entire game, he managed to hold his own. He even knocked the guy down once, backwards. It was fun; the most fun he had in a long time. He always hated sports, but this time, he actually enjoyed it. He had completely forgotten about Melissa. The day was turning around, and soon Ross was feeling so much better.
Inbetween games, Ross sat on the bench, guzzling water. Will was practically dead, so Ross tossed him Gatorade, fresh from the icepack his mother gave him. She was always smothering him, but then again, that's what mothers do.
As they cooled off, they noticed the actual football team heading for the track; followed by the cheerleaders, which were headed by none other than the lustrous Rachel Green.
"Hey, dude. Look." He tapped Will on his arm to get his attention, which he did. Ross knew that Will didn't like Rachel that much, but he did, and her beauty was just the icing on the cake that was his day. She looked so elegant bouncing across the field, like an angel in a skirt.
"Gross. Ms. Thinks-shes-better-than-everyone-else?" His heavy breathing only spat on her name further, but Ross took no offense. She was better than everyone else; she was pretty, she was popular, and, more importantly, Ross was in love with her.
"It's true, y'know."
"Yeah, okay bro. Come on."
The next game was starting. Their team lined up, this time on offense. Ross wasn't exactly savvy on the rules of football, so he believed that all he had to do was keep anyone from getting past him; easier said than done. Ross
They got in formation, Ross kept his eyes locked to the grass. His curled hair, glazed with sweat, drooped past his ears. He was tired, no doubt, but he still had to push on. Looking up, he was met with a surprise. His opponent was no longer in front of him. Instead, he saw Chip Matthews, captain of the football team, heading towards him, stripping off his letterman jacket. In a flash, almost as if it were second nature, Chip dropped to a flawless three-point stance directly in front of Ross, which rightfully frightened Ross.
This was not going to end well.
Chip didn't even look at Ross; his gaze was fixated straight ahead. Determination seemingly washed over him, and for whatever reason he decided to join the game, Chip was ready to just blast through the entire offensive line, and Ross especially.
Before Ross could realize it, the ball was snapped.
Immediately, Chip lurched forward, like a cobra attacking it's prey. In mere microseconds, Ross was laying on the ground, having no chance whatsoever to push back. It was almost like being hit by a truck, except there was a smaller chance of dying. Ross, to no avail, attempted to ignore the pain of hitting the cold, hard dirt. He watched Chip leap over him, and presumably take out the quarterback.
He did, in two seconds flat.
Second down: Again, Chip squatted in front of Ross. Ross managed to get up, but was affected by his fall. Dazed and teary-eyed, he got back into position. He had never been hit so hard in his entire life, not even by Monica. He could almost see clearly, and could made out Rachel in the background, pom-poms crossed over her chest.
He was given a few seconds to recover when the quarterback had to tie his shoe; when his eyes focused, he saw her, smiling. Rachel was smiling, and looking directly at Chip.
Instantly, Ross's happiness was flushed away, and replaced by a fury hotter than the sun. The woman he loved, smiling at his pain. Even though Chip wasn't her boyfriend yet, it was only a matter of time. Jocks and cheerleaders were practically made for each other.
Ross didn't think anymore. He was too angry. At Melissa, at Chip, and at Rachel. When the ball snapped, Chip came forward; as did Ross. They collided like trains, and although Chip was much bigger and much faster, Ross pushed with all of his might, and managed to hold him back for a couple seconds until he was knocked down again, the play ended soon after as the quarterback was sacked again.
Ross, still on his back, saw Chip stand over him. To his surprise, he was not kicked or insulted or even laughed at. Instead, he held his hand out to Ross, offering to help him back up. Despite this friendly act, Ross, his usual skepticism flaring, stood up by himself. The pain was manageable this time; he was quite proud of himself, in his own right.
"You've got some bite." Chip stated, smirking. He wiped his hand on his jeans, as to not seem like he tried to be nice in front of everyone and was refused.
Ross faced his attacker, but didn't reply. He was much too out of breath, and still pretty mad. Instead, he just glared at him, menacingly even, and walked back to the bench; Will soon followed, confused, ignoring the narcissistic football star. The two of them sat down, and watched as Chip walked back to his ilk, as if nothing happened.
"Dude, you're bleeding."
Will scratched his own cheek, and Ross mimicked it, feeling the stinging sensation and the drop of blood forming on his finger. Sure enough, he had cut himself, but unsure how. The grass must have been swords when he fell, as even though it was a small laceration, Ross could barely believe it.
With that, Ross stood back up slowly, and retreated back to the locker room, where he decided to remain for the rest of the class. Will followed, deciding that he didn't want to play either. Instead, they chatted about their favorite subject: Paleontology. While they were scolded for shunning physical activity minutes later, they didn't care. This was who they were; what they loved doing.
However, after lunch, they had to part ways. With nothing to take his mind off of it, the lash of Melissa's breakup hit him hard again. Thankfully, he only had two more classes to deal with. Two more classes to wallow in, without anyone to bother him.
First, Algebra. One of his stronger subjects. He made it through without a hitch, since he had to concentrate on nothing else than the pop quiz that was sprung on him. It wasn't as bad as the one in history; he was actually engaged, and aced it.
Not as many tears this time, but still, he quivered.
Finally, after walking like a zombie through the halls, he was in his favorite class: Biology. He was going to dissect a squirrel today. While Ross didn't love the idea, he was happy to learn. It was the curse of being an academic; morality often conflicted with everything. No one had ever thought that it the school board would consider it, even though it was just a little rodent.
Ross worked alone, for now. He made the mistake of pretending that the squirrel was Melissa and/or Chip. Instead of cutting the skin to peel it off, he managed to cut through the entire ribcage in one swoop. No one noticed, thankfully, but still, Ross needed to control himself, otherwise he would only get in trouble.
For the rest of the class, he decided to squash his feelings and follow the instructions to the letter. Like usual, finished before everyone else, and disposed of the carcass before cleaning up at his station. He kept his lunch down, and sat back in his seat. There were no tears, nor were there chills. It was almost a good thing.
Until the bell rang.
As he walked out of the class and towards the parking lot, he saw her. Melissa. She sat there, on the ground, staring into space, tapping her notebook with a pencil that he gave her. Ross debated on whether or not to confront her, but he decided to let it go; it would only hurt him more to hear her soft yet haughty voice echo through his ears.
Instead, he walked straight past her amongst the throngs of people, not even giving her the slightest glance. He would almost be proud of himself if he hadn't teared up while walking away. She wasn't even sorry; no remorse whatsoever. He believed it, and it was true. Ross's first girlfriend would be the one to break his heart the hardest.
He dried his cheeks for the ride home. He had to stay strong for just a little longer. As he caught his sister Monica talking to none other than Rachel herself, he swallowed his terror and approached them, thankful that none of Rachel's other friends were there to observe is lower status.
"Mon." His voice was softer than usual, but he kept composure; the last thing he needed was Monica on his case. Apparently, neither of them noticed or heard him, so he had to repeat her name again. She turned to him with a blank yet almost annoyed expression.
"You, uh, ready?"
"Yeah. Bye, Rach." She said goodbye to her friend, who seemed more modest now, instead of the usual pretentiousness that picked up her dress wherever she went. The two of them hugged, and Monica turned to walk with her brother.
"Bye, Mon! Bye, Ross." Her voice was lethargic at his name; mostly because she didn't know Ross as much. Ross, however, took it as a sign of her dislike for him. It didn't hurt too bad, but still. The only reason he could go near her was because of Monica.
Rachel waved to them, while Ross nodded back shyly, and led his sister to the car. He managed to hold in the swirl of emotions that threatened to break free, and luckily, not an ounce of suspicion came from Monica, or at least that's what he could tell from the corner of his eye. It was a good thing, too, as he didn't need her input, which was usually an insult as to how he was such a dork and how he embarrassed her.
They entered the car, but instead of promptly leaving like usual, Ross burst into tears, unable to keep his sorrow down any longer.