Author's Note: So, here I am, just looking for old things I was typing about and what'd you know? This pops up. I search through both my main account and my sketch account to see if I published this onto DeviantART. And I did. Apparently, I published it on October 12. Since I haven't posted much--but I promise, I'm working on a crossover and I'll publish them--on Fanfiction, I'd like to use this one and see what others think about this. :) Enjoy.
God. It hurts. It hurts like hell. Nothing will help to ease this pain. It's hopeless. I'm hopeless. Damn it. It's excruciating, pathetic. No, far worse than that…
What am I talking about? It's not my fault. It was never my fault. She was the one that came over on his behalf. It's her fault. But why do I still feel guilty? She didn't harbor feelings for me, and I didn't either. The feeling was mutual, we both despised each other. Yet, there was something. Between the three of us, I just can't put my finger on it.
I lay my head on the pillow fiercely, the pillow smothering my face. I can't sleep. My eyes were fixated on the walls, this empty room. Silence engulfed my ears. It caresses my earlobes tenderly, all I hear is my heartbeat. Racing. I attempt to breathe in and out evenly but it ends up coming so erratically. My heartbeat escalates. I can't take this anymore. I have to let it out somehow. The most pathetic thing is that, I don't know how to express this. I shudder intensely, making soft gasps.
"…House?" a voice arises. Familiar. Female. Soothing. This isn't real…it can't be.
My eyes bulge, my lip quivers. My heart skips a beat, everything goes numb. Everything just slows down. I clutch onto the pillow, my veins are shown clearly. I'm afraid to look. Actually, I'm terrified shitless on what I'll find if I even give a quick glance in another direction. I give out a slight huff, closing my eyes shut. My grip on the pillow eases down a little, my whole arm goes numb from the grasp.
"House…look at me." the voice demanded. Still using that soothing tone, that generous yet confident tone. God. Like always, huh? Damn bitch.
My eyes quickly open again. This time is different. I don't hear that voice anymore. It was a dream? Hell, I don't know. Reality seemed so warped now. It's not normal. And there's something wrong. I shift my position and look at the clock, reading 1:14 AM. I groan and sulk back into bed, the sheets hugging my body, creating warmth to overcome my nervousness. But it doesn't help. It never helps. Everything that's happen. What happened the night before, the last few days. It may be just a couple days but it felt like eternity. All that's on my mind is her. She died.
"House." again comes the voice, revisited by repeating my name once more. "It wasn't your fault. You know it wasn't. But you're blaming yourself on something that just…happened." she continued with the countless moments of what had happened and its influence on me. "Listen, I'm not just here because you're hallucinating, I'm here because you need to let go."
I scoff at the last sentence. I get up lazily and stares at her straight in the eye. "You expect me to believe this? You're not real. You're dead," the last two words I spoke out in the open was poised with confidence and anger. A mixed of both, but more anger and aggravation. I shake my head lightly, looking at my worn out fingers playing with each other sadly. I settle down on the bed. "You're dead."
I could hear a laugh coming from her. Did she think it was funny? Her death wasn't hilarious, it was ridiculous and it shouldn't had happened. "Hey…like you said, Wilson's going to hate you. He did. But he came back, right? Because you know he can't be mad at you forever. And both of you really need to move on from the past."
As soon as she mentioned Wilson, I began to think of the night of her death. A tear-filled and heartbroken man stood there, wavering his gaze at me with spite. I've never seen Wilson so full of melancholy. We exchanged stares and before I could open my mouth to speak up, he had left. I never got to say what I wanted to. But it isn't relevant anymore. Nothing else mattered. Wilson obviously hated me, he just didn't know how to express it in words. He blamed me. I guess I did deserve it. I ruined my friend's life.
"Move on from the past? Are you a moron or just really dense? I-I…" before I could finish on with my semi-rant, I realized what I said. I? Since when did I care about her? Wilson's involved too but why did I use 'I' instead of 'we'? Preposterous bullshit. "Better said than done, you obviously know that if you had paid attention to me. Oh wait, you never paid attention to me while you were alive. Sucks to be you." I remarked half-wittedly.
"Wilson just wants to sulk in his own grave and grief about me, you're declining the opportunity to move on. What's gotten into you? You can't hide this façade any longer."
I look at her with demeaning eyes. "Watch me." I comment, adding a slight smirk. "And by doing so, I will fall asleep and you will be gone." I close my eyes and sunk back into the bed. A drop in temperature hit my body and the room, I shiver slightly and could feel the rhythm of my teeth chattering.
"Hey, I'm still here." her voice echoes in the room, treacherous noise to my sensitive ears. "You're not going to get away from me that easily. We both know that."
I give off an exasperated scoff, blowing air out through my nostrils, annoyed. "Will you stop? I've got enough crap to handle. I don't need a bitch telling me stuff every five minutes." I couldn't help but occupy my comment with a devious smirk. "I don't need you in my life."
She laughed at my blatant sentence. "You didn't, but Wilson did."
"No, he didn't."
"Yes, he did."
"No, he didn't, shut up. He never did. He grew attached to you, you were only a fragment in his life. Nothing more, nothing less. He loved you--" before I could say anything else, she had cut me off abruptly.
"Wilson did. He needed someone to nurture him, to take action in his wrong-doings. He needed someone to tell him 'Stop' or 'Quit it'. You could have done it yourself but you ignored the fact that he needs to be a better person in this crappy world." she used such a sweet tone in her voice, it felt luscious. But her voice didn't matter, her words struck me in the heart. I've never been so vulnerable, it's ridiculous. And it hurts. It's true. Wilson has done so much for me, I give him little respect.
I refuse to let emotion take over me, not now. But there was something stopping me from saying what I needed to say. I moisten my lips, smacking it lightly. "You're being ridiculous. You're just saying that to throw me off, Wilson didn't need you, he could have asked for Cuddy or Lucas or hell, even his own brother for help. Telling him that he's done something wrong doesn't help him, it hurts him. The guy's a grown man, he can tell when he makes a mistake. You don't need to always look over his shoulder. He's not a child."
She stared at me, filling silence back into the room. As I tried to sleep, I couldn't. Her breathing was a problem. She was breathing heavily, on purpose as well. She wanted to irritate me. I groan slightly and exhaled. Before I knew it, I couldn't hear a thing. I couldn't hear her annoying breathing, I couldn't hear her shuffling feet. Nothing. I smile comfortingly, burrowing my face in the pillow.
She's gone.