UGH, another House hiatus? Till January? I'm not going to make it! Hurry, fanfic writers, we'll have to trudge through this together!
I've never written Wilson before, so this is a bit of an experiment.
This isn't fair.
I went to House's apartment so we can open a bottle of whiskey and drown in our sorrows. Not for him to tell me he made up with his girlfriend and that she's coming over, shooing me away.
I'm the nice one. I'm the sensitive one. I'm the moral one. Hell, I'm the one who feeds him the relationship advice because he has the knowledge of a sixteen year old. And yet, for some reason, I'm the one that's all alone tonight.
"Good for you." I told him. It was good for him. Outrageously good for him. Why does he get the beautiful girlfriend? Why does he get to be the one who works everything out?
I flip on the light of my empty apartment. Everything she brought here, every personal touch she made, it had all disappeared. All that was left was blank space on my walls. She's still all too present, though, like a ghost. I can't see her, but she's there. So, so terribly there.
My feet dragged as I forced myself to trek into my abandoned bedroom. I lay out on the bed, opening myself up to the ceiling.
Not that long ago I thought she was going to be my wife. Again. But I blew it…I blew it.
Was I jealous of House?
He lies to Cuddy. He argues his side for two weeks. He schemes to catch her lying just to prove himself right. Then he apologizes, and everything's peachy. I, for one time, question Sam's integrity, apologize over and over again, and she bolts. That is just not right.
If I had only kept my fat mouth shut…
If only I…
But I didn't. I can't linger on "if only"; that would just be a waste of time. There is nothing I can do that would allow my "if only" to be the truth.
Slowly, mindlessly, my hand trailed to the dresser beside me. I opened up the smallest wooden drawer, pulling out a photo that hasn't seen light for months. My fingers gently held the precious frame above my eyes.
Amber smiled back at me.
I could think about her now without wanting to cry. In fact, I could even look at her and talk about her. I haven't spoken to her at night since…well, I don't really remember. Hell, I almost married another woman.
"Amber…" I whispered. Her smile never changed. "I feel so alone…" with I sigh, I opened up to my late lover, revealing the wounds I never would show anyone else, "House is happy now. He even has a girlfriend. And…and I don't. Sam left me. She didn't think I trusted her. Before, whenever I felt lonely…I used to be able to look at House and think 'hey, at least he's here. Where else can he go?' But now, he does have someplace else to go. And I don't." I gave a reluctant, bittersweet smirk. "Kinda ironic, isn't it? I mean, considering the type of people we are, you know?"
The picture simply grinned back. It didn't answer me, it didn't laugh, it didn't express sympathy. It never moved. It couldn't.
My hands tightened their grip. Why was I doing this? I wasn't talking to Amber, I was just talking to a glossy piece of paper! God, I really was pathetic!
"AUGH!" I cried, hurling it spiraling to the ground. It crash landed against the wall, dropping face down onto the carpet. Tears pooled into my eyes as I curled away from the photo, burying myself in my sheets.
The sky was black now, and the pitter patter of cold rain rapped on my window. I squeezed my eyes shut so hard it hurt, begging sleep to relieve me of this terrible day. It didn't come.
A soft sigh passed my lips. My fingers itched to grab my cellphone and talk to someone, anyone, but who? Who could I call at a time like this?
They say it's lonely at the top. But being lonely at the bottom is much, much worse.
I leaped out of bed, grabbed the photo of Amber, and burrowed back under the covers. I pressed the cold glass to my heart, like a child squeezing a stuffed toy. Raindrops made the only sounds as I finally drifted off.