Shades of Red
Category: Angst
Pairing: House/unnamed character (though it was written with the intention of being Hameron)
Summary: He dreams in color but lives in a subtle shade of grey
Warnings: Contains unnamedcharacter death
Disclaimer: Own nothing, nudda and zip.
Author's Notes: Just a little note to everyone reading 'Divide by Zero' I haven't forgotten about it! I've had a bit of writers block and needed something fresh to to get me going again :)
He dreams in color but lives in a subtle shade of grey. A black world tinged with harsh bright lights that assault his senses. It's cold, empty, comparative to the bottle of scotch he's nursing.
Nothing like the welcoming feel of alcohol as it burns his throat, hot and bitter like the promises he's trying to forget. Each one is drowned by another sip but it's not enough. They rise back up taunting his mind with her words, the soft voice that told him she wouldn't leave.
She lied; everybody lies.
This time there's no celebration in the fact he's been proven right, it's just another excuse to drink more. Misery used to be his comfort but now he even despises that and again it's her fault.
She bludgeoned down his walls, making him feel things, without shedding a thought to damage control. The only thing left; a wide open hole sucking pain straight into his chest like a vacuum. He doesn't have the energy to repair the barrier.
Deep down a part of him knows; it was always going to end like this.
Life's a constant flat line of pain momentarily pulsing with happiness, not the other way around. All the time she'd spent leading him in the direction of optimism only to have him wind up falling two steps behind, was just another wasted effort come undone by her absense. Another guilty broken promise swallowed by grief.
Would he take it back, every moment, if it meant the pain would ease?
In a heartbeat.
Does he wish he'd never met her?
Only every time he breathes.
They might say, 'It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all...' Bullshit. The quote should come with a footnote; only applies to those strong enough to survive a broken heart, which he's not.
Every time he tries to remember the air crushes painfully through his chest; the accident, the hospital, her pale face above the crisp white sheets. He's haunted by the blood, the last vivid image of her body before the life seeped out of it.
Now crimson tones flash against everything he sees, the impression of light burnt permanently into his retinas.
He might live in grey but the colors he dreams in are shades of red.