The Stella I Remember

35| Aftermath

"I know you're in there, Elliot! Open the fucking door!"

When I heard the sound of a car door slam, I turned towards it. It was Elliot's neighbor who had just gotten home. And she was staring at me. No doubt she heard me yelling all the way across the street. 

"Everything's okay, Mrs. Newman," I called with a wave and a smile. "Have a good day." 

Thankfully she went into her house. But not before she cast me a disapproving look.

"Dammit, Elliot," I muttered. I began looking around his flowerbed for one of those hidden key-rock-things. I started to think he didn't have one. If he didn't, I didn't care, I was going to get inside his place one way or—

"Yes!"

Opening the rock, I removed the key and finally got inside. What I saw once I was in there made me pause in the doorway. 

Holy shit. Liquor bottles were everywhere. All empty. This wasn't good. There were only a few times Elliot went off the deep end like this, and every time it happened, it was damn near impossible to get him back to normal. 

The worst was when he got stabbed at that fucking bar. I wasn't there to see it go down myself, but I was there for the aftermath. 

The machine next to Elliot's hospital bed beeped, drawing my eyes away from my best friend. Shit. His blood pressure was getting lower. I didn't know how much more of this his body could take. Hell, I didn't know how much more of this I could take. When I got the call that Elliot had been stabbed my some motherfucker in a bar fight, I lost my shit. 

I was so angry at what happened that Abby had to drive me here. That was four days ago. I haven't left since. My amazing wife would bring me changes of clothes and food. She would sit and visit with Elliot for a little while. But no matter what we said to him, it seemed impossible to coax him back to the land of the living. Yeah, he was alive, but like this? He wasn't Elliot. 

"You gotta fight," I rasped from beside his bed. "You hear me you fucking asshole? We've been friends way too long to let it end like this." 

Elliot's head turned towards me. His eyes still had that vacant emptiness inside them. So much pain, I thought. He was in so much fucking pain and I wasn't just talking about from the knife wound that was still healing. 

"She isn't real...is she?" 

Christ. His voice cracked so bad I could barely hear him. 

I shook my head. "Don't think like that. You know she's real. You had her journal. I've seen the damn thing myself," I reminded him. "She's real, Elliot." 

"Then—" he sucked in a breath. "Then why—why can't I..."

Fuck. I knew he never should have went to Florida looking for her.

"I don't know, man. But I promise you, if you start fighting for yourself, and get your ass our of this godforsaken bed, I will help you find out what the fuck is going on. We will find her, Elliot. I promise." 

This whole attachment he had to Stella scared the ever-loving shit out of me. It was nothing against her personally. Shit. I didn't even know her. When he first told me about her I thought he was yanking my chain about the whole love thing. But there was no denying it after that no-show at that airport. He hasn't been right ever since. He hasn't been happy. 

And no matter how hard I tried to help him get over her, it was useless. But I understood that part of it a lot better now. If what he felt for her was half of what I felt for Abby, then there was no getting over her or letting her go. Ever.