Doctor Strangelove

Chapter Seven

EDITED AS OF NOVEMBER 5, 2016

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Everything was going downhill. Stephen hadn't listened to Rachael and was looking for cures anywhere. There were times when his hands would seem better, but then they would always get worse. He would have a breakdown and Rachael would need to help him though it. There had been one night when Rachael had stayed up from dusk 'till dawn sitting on the couch with Stephen's head in her lap as he cried. 

Stephen's fortune was practically gone. The shifty operations combined with all the drinks he was buying added up. He'd have Rachael pay him back for college so he could pay his bills and tabs. She had done it, but she hadn't liked it. She felt like she was letting him down somehow.

One night, Stephen came back from the bar more drunk than Rachael had ever seen him. Rachael wasn't even able to understand anything he was saying. She'd stopped being scared of him when he was drunk, but this was something new. She'd never not been able to understand what he was saying. He was stumbling around the apartment and muttering something about the Ancient One. Rachael didn't know what he meant by that, so she put some food and water in him before making him sleep on the couch.

The next morning, Stephen had the worst hangover ever. Rachael made him breakfast, but she left before he woke up. He would have to do things on his own today. At rehearsal, Rachael got in trouble for not being focused, but it was because she was coming up with a plan for how to confront Stephen. On the way home, Rachael picked up some pizza and pop to try and butter Stephen up. As she got out the key to open the door, she heard Stephen yell in anger and frustration and crash that signified objects being thrown in a rage. Rachael braced herself and opened the door.

"I'm home!" she said calmly. "I picked up some dinner, if you're hungry."

"Oh, thank you," Stephen said.

"So, he wouldn't do it?" Rachael asked, referring to the surgeon who Stephen had been Skyping with.

"Nope," Stephen said. 

"I'm sorry, Steve," Rachael sighed. She took a deep breath, wondering how this would go. "I actually want to talk to you about that."

"Then spit it out," Stephen said.

"You need to quit getting drunk every night, and you need to stop looking for cures," Rachael said. She was surprised at how blunt she sounded. "This isn't good for you. As your best friend and someone who loves you, I know you're hurt and you want to find a way to cure yourself, and I know that drinking helps you forget. But I also know that you are hurting yourself." 

"You just think you know everything, don't you?" Stephen asked, standing up.

"No, I don't," Rachael said. "And I don't pretend to. But I do know that this isn't good for you. It. Needs. To. Stop."

"No, Rachael," Stephen said. "I will search to the very ends of the earth for someone to cure me. I will search until I die. I will never stop looking, not if it means I can go back to doing operations."

"Stephen, listen to me!" Rachael pleaded. "I only want to help you."

"If you truly wanted to help me, you'd assist me in looking for a cure," Stephen said. "But you don't, do you? You just sit by and let me do it all myself."

"I don't help you? Oh, so I suppose I wasn't helping you when I stayed at the hospital every single night so you weren't alone? And I suppose I wasn't helping you when I had to wash your hair in the sink, or when I fed you?" Rachael crossed her arms and took a step closer to Stephen with every sentence. "And I guess taking care of you when you were drunk or when you had a hangover wasn't helping you either? Oh, and when your sister, parents, and brother died and I stayed with you through all of it, I guess I was just hindering you then, too?"