[center][hider=The abs I promised][IMG]http://i64.tinypic.com/1zv7mmo.jpg[/IMG][/hider]

[url=https://fontmeme.com/comic-fonts/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/181016/8e4af722c2b23f3b3b774e579ca134d1.png[/img][/url][/center]

As soon as classes were out, Ruben was in his room. That was his pattern and it always had been. Usually, it had meant sitting around and drawing with Jacques strumming soft tunes on his guitar. But without the soft tunes, he was stuck with the tip of his pencil against a clear, white page of his sketchbook. Inspiration was far away and all he could think of was how utterly alone he was right now. It did not fit him. He was a social person who had barely ever spend any time alone, between his mother, his brother and his horde of acquaintances, there was always someone willing to spend their time with him. He wanted to go out and explore; make friends and all that, but something was keeping him from it. Not only were his nerves on edge, but his thigh was itching like crazy where the prosthetic was attached. So right now, it was on the floor and he did not at all feel like putting it back on and was not quite ready to let everyone know that his leg was fake and roll around in a wheelchair.

He ended up spending most of his day reading. He did not particularly like reading, but it was a way to pass the time. The worst part of it was that it made him sleepy. It was not long till the words started to blur and mush together. He tried to blink it away, but each time, it worked only for a few seconds before the text started looking like a lake of black and white. Eventually, he gave up, put the book down and went to sleep. He woke up sometime around midnight to irritatedly push his pants down, kick them off somewhere and then go back to sleep.

[hr]

When he woke the next morning, it was to the sound of his alarm blaring next to his ear. Grumbling about the joy of his pillow and the lack of the scent of death from his brother's breath, he slammed his still-gloved hand against the snooze button and turned onto his side. It took about five seconds for him to realize he was even still wearing his glove. Then he groaned, loudly, and turned back over, staring at the ceiling. He was sleeping in his clothes. Disgusting.
After a while of mental struggle, he decided to get up and change. First things first, though. He needed to localize his leg if he were to get around the room properly. He quickly scanned the floor, seeing only his pants slung off in a bunch by the door. But he was certain he had left his leg on the floor, too, and he doubted someone would have come in and stolen his leg.
With a sigh, he raised himself on his one leg, the stub of the other moving like it wanted to help, which looked sort of comically morbid. Now, the next part was something Ruben never hoped [i]anyone[/i] would see him do. He started hopping to the pants on the floor. The look of concentration on his face was like a toddler trying to figure out how to reach the cookie jar and the way he hopped could only be compared to an anthropomorphized parsnip. It was only a few hops, but it felt like a marathon to him.

Picking up the pants from the ground, he found the treasure underneath; his leg was just lying there, mocking his idiocy. As he reached for it, he bent slightly in his knee to be able to reach it. Obviously, being that his morning was already going so well, he lost his balance. In a desperate attempt to not fall on his precious leg or face, he reached out for whatever he could grab in front of him. What he did manage to grab was the door handle and although it steadied him for a moment, it also immediately betrayed him by twisting and letting the door fly open with his weight pushing against it. Not only did he fall on both his leg [i]and[/i] his face, but he fell [i]out[/i] the doorway and into the [i]hall[/i].

From there, everything went even worse. Not only had he fallen into the hallway like a moron and not only had he landed on both his legs, which dug into his abdomen and knocked the wind out of him, [i]and[/i] his face, but there was somebody [i]in[/i] the hall. A young woman with red hair, a can in hand and buds in her ears, obviously listening to music and appeared to be mid dance-move. An there he was, on the floor, with his pants in one hand and all.

“[color=wheat]Hey,[/color]” he managed to push out, sounding pained, embarrassed and winded all at once.