His Lovable Klutz (Completed)

Segment Twenty-seven.

♥ Little Comfort ♥

      Stefan's face was a canvas of pain. A deep purple bruise bloomed across his left cheekbone, a nasty cut split his lower lip, and a raw, swelling mark marred his right temple. His knuckles on his right hand were torn and bleeding, the skin scraped away as if he had been punching something hard, repeatedly. His eyes, usually so sharp and clear, were now clouded with something heavy and unreadable.

      Coby's heart pounded with concern as she took in his appearance. "What happened to you, Mr. Reynolds?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

      As she spoke, her gaze shifted to the table in front of him, where six bottles of liquor stood. Two of them were already empty, the remaining four looming ominously, promising more destruction if left unchecked.

      Without waiting for his answer, Coby rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit. When she returned, she knelt in front of Stefan, her hands trembling slightly as she opened the kit.

      "May I... may I tend to your wounds?" she asked, her voice soft, seeking permission even though he hadn't said a word.

      Stefan gave a slight nod, his eyes still distant. Taking his silence as consent, Coby gently took his hand, her fingers brushing over the raw skin of his knuckles. She cleaned the cuts with antiseptic, carefully dabbing away the dried blood, trying not to hurt him more than he already was. As she worked, she felt the warmth of his skin, the tension in his muscles, and the subtle tremor that ran through him.

      She moved to his face, dabbing at the cut on his lip, then tending to the swelling on his temple. Each touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if she was trying to soothe not just the physical wounds but the deeper, unseen ones that she sensed ran far deeper.

      When she finished, Coby sat back on her heels, her eyes meeting Stefan's. "I'm done. But, Mr. Reynolds, what happened to you? I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but if it's your trauma... you can share it with me. I'll just listen. No judgment, no interruptions."

      For a long moment, there was only silence between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Stefan's gaze drifted to the bottles on the table, then back to Coby. Slowly, as if he was battling an internal war, he began to speak, his voice low and strained, pulling them both back to a night that had forever changed his life.

      Twenty years ago, Stefan was just a ten-year-old boy, sitting at his desk in his bedroom, engrossed in a book. His room was his sanctuary, a place where the chaos of his parents' constant fighting couldn't reach him—at least, not directly. But that night, the arguments seeped through the walls like a poisonous fog, muffled but unmistakable.

      Stefan frowned, the sound of his parents' raised voices pulling him from the pages of his book. He could only make out fragments of their words, the emotions behind them hitting him harder than the actual phrases. He stood up, hesitating for a moment before quietly opening his bedroom door. The voices grew clearer.

      "There's no way you're leaving me, Amanda!" Greg's voice was fierce, desperate.

      "I will leave you, and I'm taking Stefan with me!" Amanda's reply was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

      "He's my son! You can't take him away from me!" Greg roared, full of anger and fear.

      "Watch me!"

      "Why don't you just kill me then, since that's your plan!" Greg mentioned.

      Stefan stood frozen in front of his door, his heart pounding. He hated it when they fought, which seemed like always. It was worse tonight, though. He could feel the tension crackling in the air, heavy and suffocating.

      Then, suddenly, Stefan smelled smoke. His heart skipped a beat as he sniffed the air, the acrid scent growing stronger by the second. Panic surged through him. He rushed out of his room and down the stairs, following the smoke to the kitchen. What he saw made his blood run cold.

      Flames licked up the walls of the kitchen, the stove was on, and something had caught fire—a dish towel, the edges of a wooden cabinet, everything was feeding the hungry blaze. Without thinking, Stefan grabbed a nearby dishcloth and tried to smother the flames, but they were too strong, too fast. The fire roared back, spreading with a terrifying speed.

      "Help! Dad, help!" Stefan screamed, his voice cracking with fear as the heat intensified, the flames dancing closer and closer, trapping him inside the inferno.

      The next moments were a blur of terror. His father and mother burst into the kitchen, their faces pale with fear.

      "Stefan!" Amanda screamed, her voice raw with panic.

      Greg didn't hesitate—he plunged into the fire, ignoring the flames that singed his clothes, reaching for Stefan with a desperation that cut through the fear.

      But then, there was a terrible explosion. The heat was unbearable, the flames consuming everything in their path. Stefan felt his father’s arms around him, felt the heat scorching his skin, heard his mother's screams echoing in his ears. And then... darkness.

      The living room was quiet as Stefan finished speaking, his voice trembling with the memory. He took a long, shuddering breath, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it was no use. The dam broke, and he began to cry—bitter, heart-wrenching sobs that shook his entire body. Years of pain, guilt, and trauma poured out of him, and he was powerless to stop it.

      Coby sat beside him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She had never imagined that Stefan had been through something so horrific. Seeing him break down like this, she felt her own heart shatter. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

      "It's okay, Stefan," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It's okay to cry... Let it all out."

      Stefan buried his face in her shoulder, his tears soaking into her shirt. He clung to her as if she was the only thing keeping him from drowning in his own sorrow.

      Coby's own tears began to fall as she held him, her hand gently rubbing his back in a soothing motion. She felt a strange muddle of sadness, empathy, and something else—something she couldn't quite put into words.

      "You're not alone, Stefan," she murmured, her words slightly slurred as the alcohol they had been drinking began to take effect. "You've got me... I'll listen... I'll be here... no matter what."

      They stayed like that for a long time, both of them drunk, both of them broken in their own ways, but finding comfort in each other's presence. Coby's words became more nonsensical as the alcohol took hold, but the sentiment behind them remained clear.

      "You're a good man, Stefan... even if you're a jerk sometimes... You've been through so much... I'm so sorry... so sorry..."

      Stefan continued to cry, the years of buried pain finally finding a release. And Coby, in her drunken state, held him close, offering him the only thing she could—her comfort, her empathy, and a promise that he wasn't alone.

      The night wore on, the two of them huddled together on the couch, lost in a world of shared sorrow and tentative hope, as the weight of Stefan's past finally began to lift, just a little, with each tear that fell.