Strange Nights ( Dr Strange #1)

Chapter 20 : Strange

The house with its rustic furniture disarrayed stacks of books and shuttered windows looked the same as she had left it. She wondered how it could look the same when everyone she knew was gone.

Y/N walked back to her small, less crowded room where the Christmas tree from last year hadn't been put away. When she was little she used to insist on sleeping under the tree on Christmas Eve, so she could catch her father putting the presents instead of Santa Clause. That was so naughty of me, she thought. She sat in front of the tree, her fingers running across the empty gift boxes. Conjuring a fire in the hearth, she lay in bed looking at my ceiling - its yellow colour swirled around into a million patterns and shapes to get lost in.

"Think about this instead of that boy," Charles had said when she'd come in and lay down on the bed to look at him finishing what Jean had started.

"I can't," she'd said. "Aaron broke my heart."

"I know," he'd said, lying down next to her. "But one day he won't matter."

"He had said he loved me."

"They all say something like that," he'd told her, caressing her wet cheeks. "Trust the one who takes his time saying it."

"How long did it take Mom?"

"She never did." He'd smiled at her curious gaze and said, "Some confessions don't have to be said out loud. You just know it."

"How do you do this without her?" She knew he missed her more than she did, loved her more than she did. And the way light had left his eyes the day Jean died, she was scared she would lose him too. "You," he'd whispered and kissed her forehead. "You're my only anchor in this sinking world."

Stephen started at her like a child staring at an anonymously wrapped parcel. She was a risk, a mystery and he was being drawn to her like a moth toward the fire. He sat down heavily next to her, still staring over at her, still unsure of what to say. "What are you thinking about?"

"Dad," she replied with a smile, "the way he put me together when I was broken."

"And who broke you?" He asked conversationally, lying next to her and gazing at the ceiling.

"The usual one," she answered.

"Do you miss them - ever think of how different things would be if they were here?" She asked, edging closer to him, "Your other family, before the avengers?" He didn't answer; he had no answer to it. He hadn't given a thought to them for a very long time. He felt like being undone in ways it had been never before. It scared him. What scared him more was he wanted her to open him up layer by layer. "I didn't have much to miss about them. My... father had sent me away when I was quite young. I don't think their presence would have made any difference."

She reached toward him, very slowly, watching his face, thinking he perhaps might stop her. But he didn't. Her warm fingers grazed the curve of his hand, rubbing smooth circles. "Why would he do that?" she whispered, drinking in the struggle of emotions in his eyes.

She had no idea what a man Eugene Strange was. The laugh came out much more cruel than he intended. He expected her to flinch, to withdraw like everyone else had but she stared at him with those same warm eyes. "Victor and I were bent on pursuing our career as artists. For a successful businessman like him, our dreams seemed completely unacceptable. I was the eldest, so I had to be fixed first. Fathers love to fix things, don't they?"

"What about Victor?"

"Our little sister died before he could do the same with him. He and mother wanted all of us to be together again. Though I loved my brother very, very much, I couldn't spend the rest of my days watching the face of her killers."