A Strange Turn of Events

Checking Up on a Friend

I peer into the house with concern, checking up on a friend. He's by the window, scarred hands pressed against the surface of his living room table as he blankly watches the rain race down the glass. The laptop before him casting his features in a pale glow and I feel my stomach turn at just how unkempt he looked.

The accident had left him as hollow as a porcelain doll, and I'll admit it's hard to watch as Stephen appears just a ghost of a man now.

"Hey, what did they say?"

I took a calculated step forward, not wanting to startle him in case he was in deep thought, which judging by the tense line of his lips, he very well might be.

"No... They said no."

Stephen's voice rasps, fingers trembling as he slams his computer closed.

"I just need 200,000 just to get-"

I took another step, softening my voice.

"Stephen-. I know you're worried but at this rate you're going to end up in trouble."

Stephen's blue gaze bore into mine, like ice shards chipping away at my resolve.

"No, now is exactly the worst time to stop because I'm not getting any better!"

I shakily reach out and touch his arm.

"But this isn't medicine anymore, it's science fiction! You've tried so much already."

He moves away from me, stepping to look out the window. Hand meeting the glass and I watch his face fall when his nails make a clicking tremor on the pane, his shoulders falling in utter defeat as my chest tightens, his voice faltering.

"Life without my work is-"

"-Stef." I move toward him once more, brows knitting as my hand grazes over his shoulder.

"You can't give up hope! You can get through this. We can find something, There has to be something in store for you that'll make everything worth it."

"Like what?"

His tone becomes a mocking hiss as he barely spares me a flick of his gaze.

"Like you and Christine? You think a couple of 'friends' are going to make it all better?"

I froze a moment, mentally forcing myself to not take the comment personally. I know this method of handling pain, hell I do it myself. Push everyone away, lick your wounds, then act as though failure never occurred.

Strange seems slightly surprised by my silence, obviously, he was trying to hurt me. Well not really, but... He was trying to make me turn and run. His gaze turns toward me again, more fully this time, voice commanding despite the broken shards of his being he's so desperately trying to hide.

"This is the part where you leave."

I don't budge a muscle, already kicking myself for my former words. I'm an artist, if I lost my hands' stability. I would lay down and die. And there would probably still be options for me. But what was Stephen supposed to do? Do brain surgery with the scalpel in his teeth or between his toes? That just didn't work. Being the best neurosurgeon was his reason to be, much like my need to create art. Of course he felt like a useless husk without purpose. I close my eyes, tears threatening to surface as I continue to look at him.

Strange laughs brokenly.

"Too difficult for you, is it?"

I shake my head, lids lifting as I move closer, but he raises a hand, visibly wincing when he saw it quiver in the air.