Waiting for Monday
I got this idea while watching the music video for Good Charlotte's "Hold On"
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He could feel the capillaries rupturing under his skin, blossoming into multi colored bruises that would be hidden by brighter, bigger bruises before they had a chance to fade.
A well placed kick to the ribs.
A swift jab into his already purple stomach.
The pain spread out across his mind in a shocking display on imaginary colors. Greens and yellows and purples flashed across the back of his eyelids with every blow.
He knew better than to say anything.
I would only make it worse.
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If they knew something was up, they had yet to show it. Not that he cared much. Even if they knew what was up? What could they do? Stop it? That almost made him laugh.
Almost.
As it were, one of them did know. She knew. Of course she knew. She knew every bruise that covered his body. She had felt each wince of pain as her fists and feet made contact with his knew all too well.
She smiled over at him. Anyone else would see sweet little Cameron smiling at her lover. But it was a smug smile, she knew that no one else would even try to guess.
She knew she was safe.
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Foreman cast a worried look over at Chase. He didn't seem too comfortable. He kept adjusting his position in his seat, like he had an open sore.
He continued to watch Chase out of the corner of his eye as House talked on about the current case. He really lost focus on what the older man was saying when Chase's sleeve rode up and he spotted the purple splotches on his wrists.
"Chase! What the hell is that?" He exclaimed, shocked. Before anyone had a chance to do anything, Foreman was up and about.
He locked the door to prevent Chase's escape. Then he marched over to the blonde Australian and peeled the sleeve off of the battered arm.
House and Foreman gasped.
The whole of Chase's arm was a bruised purple. Foreman continued peeling off the shirt, revealing much of the same.
His whole upper body, and more, seemed to be covered in angry purply-red marks.
"Chase, who did this?" It was obvious to everyone that nothing short of a massive beating could have achieved this.
Chase just shrugged. "I got mugged on my way home from work last night." Was all he said.
Foreman and House knew it wasn't true. But they let it go.
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Forman was still at his desk when Chase started packing up for the day. He was worried, more so that usual. Given the current situation this wasn't surprising.
He watched as the usually chipper blonde ran his tired eyes over everything. He looked so downtrodden. It pained him to see that man like this. Deep down, he couldn't fight the truth.
He should tell him, something told him that if he waited too long, it would be too late.
"Hey Chase, can we talk?" He asked, stopping Chase at the door.
He just regarded him with tired eyes. "I gotta get home."
"C'mon, it's important." He pleaded.
"Tell me one Monday, it'll be just as important then. I really gotta get home." The "Or Cameron will kill me" was left out.
Foremen relented and just smiled. "Fine, have a nice weekend and I'll see you on Monday."
Chase just walked out.
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"How dare you do that to me?" She asked in a dangerously low whisper. She kicked him, hard, in the face. His nose began to bleed out onto the carpet.
"You want this, don't you? You force me to this, Robert. I don't want to do this, but you just can't quit can you? This hurts me too, you know."
She punctuated each statement with a brutal kick to various parts of his body.
It continued much in the same way until she finally tired and left to go home and to bed.
Chase dragged himself off of the floor and into the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet. Bingo. He struggled to open the bottle of Tylenol PM with his swollen hands.
He started to shake a few out of the bottle, but hesitated. He filled a glass of water and downed the whole bottle.
Just like going to sleep. He'd drift off and wouldn't feel a thing. No pain, not even from the bruises. His last thought would be of Foremen, and how much he had wanted to tell him.
He wouldn't even notice when he stopped breathing.
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The all received the news the next day. Dr. Chase had died, it had been ruled a suicide. There had been evidence of ongoing abuse, and did they know who could have done it.
Fingers were pointed, they all pointed to her.
At the funeral Foreman couldn't help but laugh. "We'll talk on Monday, huh Chase?"
He would be waiting for Monday for the rest of his life.