I placed my hand on the coldness of the door knob. I took a deep breathe. The grey sleeves of my shirt were bunched at my hands and my black leggings carried down just shy of my ankles. I turned the knob, presenting a sarcastic smile on my face. The rapping on the door stopped as I opened it, presenting none other than House.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him. He moved to search the small amount of the apartment that he could see through the doorway.
"Nothing," he replied with a shrug. I furrowed my brows, my smile faltering. I played with the hem of my sleeves anxiously, and if House noticed, he didn't announce it.
"Well, then I better get back to sleeping," I said, clearly confused. There was no reason for him to show up at my door. I was well aware that he had shown up at some of the others' places before, but from what I've heard, he had always made it known why he was there. I began to close the door, but he stopped me with his cane pressed harshly against it.
"What? No invitation inside?" He asked sarcastically. He pushed through me into my house. I sighed and closed the door behind him. "I always took you as the one to like expensive things," he stated as he scanned the room, turning on his heels to face me.
"In order to buy expensive things, you actually need the money to buy said expensive things," I mocked, rolling my eyes. He followed my movements as I sat down on my couch. There was no reason to put up a fight as I figured it would only make him stay longer.
"Okay," he nodded energetically. I propped my feet up on the coffee table and gestured for him to sit down beside me. "Oh! It'd be my pleasure," he mocked, placing his hand over his mouth. I gave a small laugh as he limped over to the other side of the couch and sat down.
"You know what?" I said excitingly, moving myself so I was now facing him on the couch. I had a big, fake smile plastered on my face, "We should have a sleepover!"
He raised his eyebrows, trying to hide the shadow of a smile, "Is that another way to ask me to have sex with you?"
I laughed and threw my arm over the edge of the couch, resting it there, "So, why are you here?" I asked again, hoping this time I'd get a legitimate answer.
"Bored," he sighed, exasperated. Why'd I think I'd actually get a straight answer? He studied me closely, "You said you were going to go back to sleep, but you were never sleeping in the first place."
"And why do you say that?" I asked him, curious as to how he'd known. I find the fact that he can study someone so closely intriguing, but so does everyone else, I suppose. That's what makes him special; what makes him House.
"First of all, who sleeps in leggings? Yes, you could make the excuse that you put them on to answer the door, but then why the long sweatshirt? It's the middle of summer and you wear a long sleeved shirt to sleep? Highly unlikely," he nodded, staring at my sweatshirt, "The fresh blood seeping through said shirt is also a strong indicator that you either cut yourself while sleeping, and somehow didn't tear the shirt, or you cut yourself and then put on the shirt to cover it."
I quickly glanced down at my the dark spots that were quickly widening on the light material that covered my left forearm. I thought I had stopped the bleeding. I stood, "I think you need to leave," I said harshly. I was mad at the fact that he could've told me my arm was bleeding a better way, but I was more mad at myself for letting my arm bleed in the first place.
"I have to use the little boys' room," he said, glancing at my eyes for a split second. He stood and pointed at a door, "This one?" He asked, walking closer. I rushed in front of him, my right hand pressed firmly against my bleeding arm.
"No. Leave," I said, looking him dead in the eye. He licked his lips and I could tell he knew I wasn't as strong as I seemed to be at that point. I knew he could see my walls falling apart as the person I've kept a secret from for so long had finally found out.
He cocked his head to the side, "Something you don't want me to see in there? Bloody razors?" He mocked smoothly, sending daggers into my throat.
I gripped my arm harder, "What part of 'Get out of my fucking house' do you not understand?" I raised my voice. He needed to stop playing games and leave, I couldn't take it anymore.
"What are you gonna do if I don't? Cut yourself? Bandage your pathetic arm up before you bleed out. You have to come into work tomorrow," he smirked, turning on his heal and heading for the front door.
"Tomorrow's Saturday," I replied quietly.
"We just got a case," he remarked as he walked out the door, closing it swiftly behind him. I sighed, my breath shaky with fear. You'd think that him finding out that I self harm would be an exceptional time to drop the act and maybe show a little bit of empathy. I shook my head and headed to the bathroom, I had to clean myself and this shirt.