Standing in the bathroom, you examine your reflection, the darkening bruise glaring back at you, constantly reminding you that it really didn't matter and really, you deserved this for thinking that you could do anything. Your mind drifts to Wilson then, alone in that room with only his food for company. He's got better companions than you though, all you have is damaged hopes and a damn throbbing pain that probably won't ever go away now.
Biting down on your lower lip, you turn the sink on and let the cool water run over your hands. You bring a soaking finger to your jaw, the water feeling good against your swelling skin. It seems odd that you're not thinking about House right now, about all the shit that you wanted to do to him. You suppose you got that frustration out back in the room (You don't even eat peanut butter and jelly but it felt good to dig the knife into something, it really did) and now all you could think about was how very surreal the passed few weeks have been and how long this is going to last because really, you're not sure how much longer you'll last, or anyone else for that matter. Everything was beginning to crack and you know that it'll fall to pieces soon enough, it's just a matter of time.
"You should put some ice on that, it's beginning to swell." Wilson is standing in the doorway and at first you're not sure what you should say. The conversation back in the lounge wasn't one that worked in your favor and if you opened your mouth now, you couldn't promise that things wouldn't get worse. Still, you remember the look in his eyes as you were leaving, and know then that silence isn't an option.
"I know."
He comes closer and you think about leaving. Really, you don't want him to be here right now, even if he's probably the only one who's been civil to you. A hand reaches out and grazes the tender area and you visibly wince.
"Come on," he coaxes gently, holding out a bag of ice that you hadn't noticed before.
Sighing, you take the bag from him and press it against your cheek. You're not sure what to do after that but with the way that Wilson is staring, you're not even sure if it's safe to think, since you're almost sure he's reading your mind.
"Let's go out," he finally tells you, "for a drink, I think we need to talk."
You raise an eyebrow but shake your head. Home, that was the only place you wanted to go, and besides, going out with Wilson, that was dangerous. You aren't quite sure why it was dangerous but you know it was, especially right now.
"Are you sure? We won't be long, I promise." He sounds hopeful and just a little desperate. You laugh inside because you'd never seen him when he was desperate, it was an interesting change; a change that you almost wanted to see more of, just because it was a comforting reminder that you weren't the only desperate one anymore.
"Alright, fine."
He looks almost relieved then and you wonder what exactly you just got yourself into but don't say anything else. Words were dangerous, just like saying yes to this whole thing, just like doing anything was.
"I need to call someone first, then we can go, alright?"
You nod and proceed to follow him out of the bathroom and towards his office but are never invited inside. He just walks in, shuts the door and pulls out his phone.
If you listen closely, you can almost hear his side of the conversation.
"Hello? I'd like to talk to Detective Tritter please..."
And all the pieces come falling down.