Little

Chapter 4

One month later...

It had become useless. His hands remained earthquake-shaky, even after seven surgeries. He couldn't shave, and his beard had grew out. Now he looked like a hobo.

He'd asked tons of doctors, but all of them said it was a useless case and he'd just have to live with it. But he wasn't giving up. No matter how much money or pain, he wanted his hands back.

He'd been jumping between physical therapy, taking care of Peter (by far the worst), and researching new medical procedures. 

He was sure he had gone insane. And that wasn't helping any matters.

On this particular rainy day, Peter was distracted playing something on his Ipad and with his today. Occasionally, he ran around pretending to be Iron Man while wearing his mask, but either than that he was quiet. 

Stephen was in a video call with a French doctor named Etienne, who supposedly had a medical procedure that could help his hands. But Etienne refused to do it.

"I looked at all your research. I read all the papers you've sent, but... none will work. I... I don't think you realize how severe the damage is..." he said

"Look, here's the thing, I..." Stephen started to say. 

"At best, I'd try and fail," Etienne said, cutting him off.    

"Look, I understand. Here's the thing. I... " Stephen said, cutting him off. He was in no mood to not be accepted for treatment.       

"What you want from me is impossible, Stephen," Etienne said firmly. "I've got my own reputation to consider."

Now he was definitely not getting accepted for treatment. He tried begging now. "Wait..."

"I can't help you, sorry," was his last words. He ended the call. It was done.

Why would no one treat him? It made no sense. In sheer anger, he shoved his tablet and his papers off the table. Peter, sitting in the corner, looked up in fear at the loud noise.

"Why are you mad?" he asked in a small, quivering voice.

Stephen just looked at him. "Nobody will fix my hands. They're all idiots," he said, trying to put it in the simplest possible terms. 

He was cut off by the sound of a door opening. Christine walked in. "Hi," she said, before seeing the look on his face.

"He won't do it?" she guessed.

Stephen ignored her. He was looking to the future already. "There's a new procedure in Tokyo," he said. "They culture donor stem cells and then harvest them and 3D -print a scaffold. If I could just get a loan together..." 

He knew he was on the verge of bankruptcy, but he didn't care. He needed his hands back.

"Stephen. You've always spent money as fast as you could make it but now you're spending money you don't even have," Christine said, sighing. "Besides, you have Peter to think about. Maybe it's time to consider stopping."

"No," Stephen said. He wasn't caring about anything now except for his hands. "Now is exactly the time not to stop. Because, you see, I'm not getting any better! "

Peter was watching with a terrified look on his face, and clutching is toys to his chest. He looked like he wanted to do something, but he was too scared to interfere.

"But this isn't medicine anymore. This is mania," Christine said. 

"Some things just can't be fixed."

"Life without my work..." Stephen started to say. He couldn't imagine what would happen. What was he supposed to do if he couldn't help people?

"This isn't the end," Christine said. "There are other things that can give your life meaning."

"Like what?" Stephen snapped. "Like you? Like Peter?"

The silence grew thick in the air. Christine looked completely shocked and hurt.

 "And this is the part where you apologize," Christine said, her tone dark.

"Fine then," Stephen said, the anger boiling inside him. "This is the part where you leave."

"I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore," Christine said. She made her way towards the door to leave.

"Too difficult for you, is it?" Stephen sneered

"Yes. It is," Christine said.  "And it breaks my heart to see you this way."

"Totally," Stephen said. "Here she goes, pitying me."

"I'm not pitying you," Christine said. "Not at all."

"Oh yeah?" Stephen said. He was done. Why didn't she understand? 

"Then what are you doing here? We are not friends, Christine. You just love a sob story, don't you? Is that what I am to you now? A charity case? Another dreg of humanity for you to work on? Fix him up and send him back into the world, heart is just humming..."

Nobody noticed, but Peter was putting hands to his ears and didn't look so good.

"You care SO much, don't you?" Stephen shouted.

Behind them, Peter fell to the ground, yelping and clutching his ears.

"Stephen! Be quiet! Christine said. She ran over to Peter and picked him up.

"Don't you remember? His ears! He's sensitive to loud noises!" she said, while quietly comforting Peter, as silent tears ran down his face. Before long, he had relaxed and fallen asleep.

"You need to act like a father," she said, with a hint of anger. "He's been placed in your care."

"I just need to give him food, water, and shelter, and I'm done," Stephen said, not caring. He bent down to pick up the tablet and papers.

"No! That's not all of it," Christine said. "I knew you wouldn't look at any of the other papers, but I did. Peter's been through enough already."

"Well so have I," Stephen said.

"Are you a six-year-old kid with social impairments? No," Christine retorted. "He lost his parents two years ago in a plane crash, and his uncle one year ago because of a shooting. He even had to be taken to the hospital after his uncle died because of the amount of trauma he went through."

"Don't you see?" she continued. "He loved his uncle so much that when he was ripped away from him, look what happened. He needs a father figure."

She walked towards Stephen and placed Peter in his arms. Peter immediately snuggled up in Stephen's arms and wouldn't let go.

"Just...please love him," she said. Then she left.