DOES IT HURT?

I knew I would scare her.

Otherwise I obviously wouldn't have put myself on her sofa at six in the evening; nor I would have remained in the hospital. Usually at that time I'm already having a shower. Then I go out. The pub, a motor ride, a film on TV. A squabble with Wilson, my new little wife. Routine.

But that day.

That day was different. She was different. And so since she was an addend of them the whole addition was different. They were different. Closer, and not only when they were sitting side by side in her car. There was something more. There was the Cuddy who fought for the things she loved, again, in that hospital. And since she put all those efforts in it, she was fed up; and since she was fed up, she attracted him in the same way the sweated torso of a hand attracts a mosquito.

Suddenly I heard a noise. Her heels. I must have smiled; I always smile when I recognize her shoes, because I imagine her while she's choosing them, buying them and then choosing them again, in the morning, before putting them on. Then, the door. The light.

"What the- House!"

There she was. I bet I smiled again. I love to hear her screaming. Especially if she's screaming name.

"What are you doing on my sofa?" she asked, while she was regaining her composure.

"And what are you doing in your office? Uh, I forgot. I'm the one in the wrong place."

But he didn't move. He kept a leg straightened and the other was bent; he had his stick revolving with his usual, enviable, odious, peaceful ability. That kind of ability that had her nerves tremble.

"House, I've got a little time and a lot of things to do, so … why are you here? I'd appreciate sincerity."

"Me too." The stick stopped.

"What about this: my sincerity in exchange of yours?"

At that point she did what I was expecting her to do. She nodded.

"Anything you want, the important thing is that we get out of here"

I wasn't smiling anymore.

"Anything I want?"

"Go, but do it now."

"Did you love me?"

I had hit her.

She hadn't been looking at him, but after hearing the question she looked up to him with the intensity Gregory House deserves.

"There was a time I'd fuck up my life for you"

They hadn't stop looking each other.

"And now?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Have you given up?"

"Now stop it. Get out of here, please. I wanna go."

"You can go"

"That's what I'm going to do."

Cuddy lifted up and started filling up the briefcase. She went over the desk and straightened her arms to reach the coat; when House talked she was giving him her back.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

She didn't answer, but she had a hesitation.

"If a bruise hurts, and I'm saying it as a doctor, that means it is still infected."

Cuddy turned.

"What if I had amputated that limb? I'd have had pain and infection vanish, don't you think so?"

She looked at me. I looked at her. We looked each other. And how could that limb be amputated, how could we be amputated? That pronoun would always be there. And with it the pain, and the infection. No, Cuddy hadn't amputated anything at all. She was only healing herself with the indifference: and as long as I was able to reap the cure from her hands, we would win. I'd have her suffer. And, also, love.

"Now I really must go"

She had put on her coat and had picked up the briefcase. She was going to go, but when she bent over the little table to pick up I don't know what I grabbed her hand.

"Leave me"

I didn't obey her. Why should have I? I never do. Instead I leaned toward that hand. I laid my lips on its torso. It was a kiss, or something like that.

Then I looked at her. And while I was hearing her pill rolling on the pavement, I got it.

It was still hurting.