title Bones Shatter
author pinkeop
summary "Yeah, no. Yeah. Just some lonely guy on Christmas. He was a perfect gentleman."
authors note Takes place during season two, "Distractions." Changed Paula's name to Gabrielle because when I wrote it, I forgot the call girl's name. This is what happens after she goes inside House's apartment.
a bone shatters, falls apart and hits the floor
if it doesn't thrill you it doesn't matter anymore
bones shatter, maybe don't go out this time
no matter where you've been or who you are
if it doesn't kill you it's sure to leave a horrible scar
bones shatter, baby don't go out this time
I tried to get the taste of peanut butter and jelly out of my mouth with a piece of gum as Andrew drove me across town. I looked at my face in the flipped down mirror, the tiny lights illuminating my cheeks and poorly done make up, which I tried half heartedly to fix. It was late and while I'm paid to be pleasant, I knew it was going to be work. I brushed the tip of the soft pink lipstick over my pursed lips. Andrew was trying to give me a pep talk from the other side of the car, but I didn't really hear him. Instead, I glanced at him with a heavy glare; it was too dark and he went right on trying to cheer me up.
I tucked my hair, dark and heavy, over my shoulder and shut the little overhead mirror. The car went dark but for the passing lights of the city as we closed in on my destination for the night. My stomach went queasy and I tried to settle it with another piece of gum. It didn't help.
"Ten minutes in I'll call you. Got your phone?" Andrew asked me as he pulled in front of a tall apartment building. I peeked out in curiosity before carefully spitting my gum into a wrapper and balling it up in my fist.
"Of course," I said with a soft sigh, grabbing my purse off the floor between my legs. I hitched it over my shoulder and opened the door. "Be back down as soon as possible." I let my irritation seep into my voice.
Andrew chuckled and leaned across the car before I closed the door. "Hey, com on. It's Christmas."
I winced and slammed the passenger door as hard as I could, watching in satisfaction as snow shivered off the roof.
I pulled out the slip of paper from my pocket with Andrew's calming, familiar hand writing on it, the numbers loopy and big. I sighed and began my ascend to the fourth floor. The stair well echoed my foot falls as I made my way up. It sounded lonely and I could only imagine what kind of man would call for me on Christmas. I pulled up an image of him in my mind- older, lonely, looking for one night to be less alone. Simple. Recently divorced.
The stairs creaked beneath my feet as I reached the landing and slipped through the door into the hall lined with apartments. Four oh one, four oh three. I turned and spotted the four oh six nestled quietly there in the hall. Nothing spectacular. No Christmas hangings on the door. I huffed and shook my hair out, practicing my pleasant face smile. I thought I had it down, so I rose my hand and knocked a few times on the door.
It opened but only so much. The man who was wedged between the door and the frame looked drunk. I hated when they're drunk. He looked at me with an instant dislike in his shadowy eyes. I peered at him for a few moments, my practiced perfect smile stuck on my face. He looked younger than I first thought, but still in his forties. His face hadn't been shaved for a few days and his salt and pepper hair was in a disarray. He leaned heavily on the door frame.
I hated when they're drunk.
"Hi," I chirped nonetheless, my smile bright, sun shining out my ass. He narrowed those shadowy eyes at me. I took a deep breath. "I'm Gabrielle. Do you work at the University...?" I tried to rouse something out of him. But his eyes cut through me when he lifted his chin. They pierced me. Eyes of the most beautiful, gentian blue, looking out from a haggard, long, shallow face with eye brows tilted so far they touched in the middle, wrinkles set forever in his brow. Those blue eyes hit me like a bullet from a gun and I lost my breath. I tried to keep my smile.
"I'm looking. . . for a distraction. . ." the man told me, his voice as sharp as his eyes. He didn't sound drunk. "Do you really need to talk for that?"
I hesitated, my heart hammering. I felt my smile twitch up a watt and I let my face soften. My head nodded on it's own accord. He looked at me in the way that most men do; the way that says he's better than me. I'm nothing to him. He's the only one with cause to get drunk on Christmas. He's the only one with a story. Call Girls don't get stories. I didn't have a story. I was not his superior no matter who I may be during the day. He was the only one with a story.
He nodded his head and opened the door the rest of the way. I saw that instead of the door drame, he was leaning on a cane and I noticed him favoring his left side. I wanted to ask what happened but I didn't. I stepped inside and he closed the door around me. When I breathed, I caught the scent of man sweat and soap and alcohol.
My phone went off in my purse and I stepped away to answer it, glancing over my shoulder. The man watched me with a curiously irritated look on his face and he limped passed me into the living room. Flipping open the fancy cell phone, I held it to my ear which was immediately filled with Andrew's voice. "You alright, Gabby?"
I nodded my head, then remembered he couldn't see me. "Yes," I said into the reciever that brushed my cheek. "He's a perfect gentleman."
Andrew sighed heavily, a rush of breath into the phone. "See you when you're done, then?"
I nodded again. "Yep," I agreed, flipping closed the phone. I caught a strand of hair and it stung my scalp when I ripped it out hastily returning my phone to my purse. My eyes followed the jerky movements of my companion.
I followed him into the open living room. My eyes caught the sight of the baby grand, just sitting there, ivory keys looking new and never touched. As he poured another glass of alcohol, I set my purse down on a table and ventured towards his piano. I touched one key and listened to it ring throughout the apartment like a gun shot.
"I learned to play when I was little," I said over my shoulder; but I knew it didn't matter. I didn't have a story. He looked at me and I could sense the I don't care poised on his lips, but he didn't say it. I turned back to the piano and touched the keys again before bringing my other hand up. I tap out the Graduation song by that old school annoying poppy girl band that was cool in the nineties.
"Can you not talk?" He rasped and my fingers slipped and made a horrid noise against the piano keys. I winced a little, dropping my hands by my sides.
"That'll cost you extra," I quipped, turning around to face him. He'd downed his alcohol and was watching me from across the coffee table. I began to judge him. I didn't want to, but it was very hard. I judged him and I wondered what miserable life he led. I crossed my arms over my chest and look him up and down. He did the same and I felt his drunk eyes roving. Roving and imagining.
Living alone, mid forties, looking as if he hadn't shaved his face in a few weeks. I judged him for all he was worth. He obviously played the piano. A musician. A starving artist; but by the look of the pretty baby grand he wasn't starving too bad. Angry with the world. Mean. A hard ass. He was keeping everyone out, even me, and I had no reason to want to get in. I figured he had one friend, at most. Possibly none. I saw no smiling pictures of friends or even of family. A powerful, lonely man.
"You're miserable," I finally said, hearing my own recognition make my voice sound incredulous, no matter how obvious the revelation was. He quirked up an eyebrow.
"Again, with the talking."
"Sorry," I said.
"Liar."
He limped a step closer and I felt my thighs pressing against the baby grand. I eyed his cane with furious distaste. I could only imagine how many bruises he'd dealt out with that thing.
"So why are you miserable?" I goaded, still judging, still sizing him up for whatever man he may or may not have been. "It's Christmas. Why am I here with you?"
He rolled his eyes and gave me the most exasperated expression in the world; I was a little impressed. "I have duct tape, if you like." Another limped step. "Either way, you're going to be shutting up soon." My butt smacked a few keys and made a sharp noise as I leaned back as far as I could against the baby grand.
"Why's that?" I asked. "Get your cheap thrills beating hookers?"
"No," he growled. Then, his arms were on either side of me and I was looking up at him and those piercing blue eyes and the smell of man sweat and soap and alcohol.
Both his hands came up to cup my cheeks. They were big hands, man hands, his palm resting against my jaw, the tips of his fingers nestled into my hair. Firm and tough against my pale skin. He leaned down enough to pause like the kiss he was about to give me would actually mean something. I looked up at him with the eyes I gave every man and he probably thought he was real special. Get it over with, please I made my eyes tell him. I supposed he could read my pretty well, because he kissed me then. Which, pretty effectively, shut me up.
My but slid over the keys and he pressed closer to me, my arms looped gently around his shoulders and my wrists linking behind his neck. His hands came down from my cheeks, sliding along the underside of my arms, gripping rather than touching, groping rather than feeling. His hands stopped at me kips and yanked me off his piano.
He pulled away from me and grabbed me by the wrist. Not by the hand. It was too personal. I could have understood if I had been in my right mind. His other hand groped for his cane and when he found it he leaned heavily against it with each step down the short, thin hallway leading ot his bedroom.
It was dark and I couldn't see anything other than his shadowed face. I heard his cane clatter to the floor, wood on wood, and then his hands were back on my body, roving under my clothes. I sighed when his lips found mine and suddenly it was a flurry fo kisses and touches and who can make who ah! and mmm! and oh! more. He was winning.
We landed heavily on the bed and I heard him hiss. "Leg," he warned me in a grunt, his lips at my throat. I tilt my head back and dragged my nails across his stomach.
"What happened?" I panted. He grunted again and I felt my jeans shimmy down my hips. He jerked my butt right out from under me and my head fell on the pillow. I kicked off my heels and listened to them thunk to the floor.
"It hurts. Now shut up."
"Should we be doing this if it hurts...?" I asked gingerly, trying to twist my body away from his, minding his leg. He groaned and I felt his forehead rest heavily on my shoulder. There was a moment where I paused and touched my palm tenderly to his cheek before he ripped away form me and grabbed something off the dark night stand. I heard pills rattle in a bottle then a harsh dry swallow.
"Happy?" He asked before his lips were on mine and I could only think about the taste of alcohol and medicine.
"Rubber," I grumbled between kisses as our bodies gradually lost barriers until the only thing stopping us were his jeans. "Rubber!" I hissed again when he blatantly ignored me by kissing across my stomach. I arched my back and he dragged my hips closer.
I happily forgot about the rubber for the moment.
When my tiny hands fluttered to remove his jeans, dragging them down his hips, our hands got tangled in each others as he tried to do the job himself. I brushed my hand across his thigh and gasped at the feel of distorted skin, contours and tips that don't belong on a leg. I splayed my palm across the hard scar that covered a good part of his upper thigh, wishing I could see in the dark room. I didn't press too hard; I stroked the scar, feeling my warm palm mold against the rough skin.
Why you ask was I bound and chained in this dark and dismal place? Not for any mortal sin but the wickedness of my abhorrent face.
Only, it was his thigh.
"Leave it," I heard him grumble. I didn't move my palm. "Leave it," he insisted.
"What happened?" I whispered. His large hand grabbed mine and moved it carefully away.
"The last hooker fought back," he grumbled into my hair as he tucked my body close to his, distracting me with the friction. I happily forgot it as we tumbled back into the blankets. He dragged more of that delicious fraction and the ah!s and the mmm!s and the oh!s out fo me.
I twisted and squirmed and arched against each soft and rough and quick and slow movement he made, each wonderful angle. I smiled into his throat when I heard his horribly animalistic grunts and groans. It was hardly attractive, but I pressed closer anyway and I hooked my arms tightly around him, pressing nearer. He tucked his chin into my shoulder and his breath was heavy in my ear. I liked it.
We were sweaty and naked and sprawled out on the blankets by the time the sun is coming up and if I listened carefully I thought I could hear my phone going crazy inside my purse out where I left it by the piano. I worried Andrew would come knocking if I didn't answer it soon.
I rolled and tucked my face into his chest, taking a few deep breaths of his man sweat and soap and sex. Slowly, I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair, looking for my undergarments.
"Where's my knickers?" I grumbled, leaning over him to peek over the side of the bed. He grunted and said nothing else.
I sighed again and crawled carefully over him, avoiding his bad leg. In the peeking orange or the rising sun, I tried to catch a glimpse of his thigh but the blankets were up to his hips. I found my underwear at the end of the bed and I wiggled them up my hips, throwing on my blouse just so I could go out into the living room. I found my phone in my purse; there were three missed calls from Andrew. I held the small device against my chin, peering back into the small hall way.
I tried to figure out what I wanted. I returned to his bedroom and I leaned against the door frame. He looked very quiet. Less miserable. I moved around the room and grabbed my clothes, pulling them up. I scowled- he'd broken the button on my jeans. I liked these jeans.
"Wait," I heard him say. I already knew and I couldn't make myself take the money I knew he would offer me. I moved towards the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss him. I thought about the lips, but I caught his cheek just in time.
"No," I said. "Don't bother. Call it on the house. Merry Christmas."
There was a pause as I made my escape towards the hall but his voice stopped me at the doorway to his bedroom.
"You're miserable," he said. His voice was croaky. I hesitated, looking over my shoulder, hand on the door handle.
"Nope," I say. "Just a nymphomaniac."
"So why are you miserable?" He asked. I gave him a hard look. He sat up and was pulling on his jeans. I watched his body move in an awkward way, his hurt thigh stretched in front of him carefully. "Daddy have boundary issues? What other reason would you be so willing to take your clothes off?"
I felt a slap of shock across my face, my hand a little shaky. I turned away from him, feeling those stinging blue eyes watching me. Roving and imagining. I strode from the bedroom, more eager than ever to leave the presence of this man. I scrambled for my coat and purse in the living room, hearing him limp after me.
"Well?" He asked. I felt my breath choke in my throat and I whirled on him, flinging the first thing I found right at him. My compact mirror grazed his shoulder before hitting the wall behind him and shattering into several pieces.
"Merry fucking Christmas," I snarled, slamming the front door behind me as I left. I only made it a floor down before I found I had to slump in the stair well. My phone buzzed again and I dug in my purse to find it.
"Gabrielle," Andrew asked loudly in my ear. It felt good to hear his voice. "Are you okay? Do you need me to come up?"
I sniffed the tears back down, pressing my finger tips against my lips.
"Yeah, no," I said. "Yeah. Just some lonely guy on Christmas. He was a perfect gentleman."