This scintilla of love and profuse amount of sadness mingled with loneliness coupled with hate. It was disgusting but that was the way in which I lived each day. Dragging my feet through the sands of time seemed to get more difficult with every day. It got harder after the infarction and then almost unbearable when Stacy left. Wilson makes it better sometimes but he can only do so much.
I sat alone on my couch watching the tiny people with their fake lives, all of them wishing they were someone else. That's all acting ever really is.
The silence is suffocating. I can't breath. I should call Wilson and have him come over before the silence overwhelms me, drags me deeper into my man-made pit of sorrow, and I do something reckless and stupid. The problem is that Wilson is part of my problem. When he's here I'm not myself. I feel lighter as if there isn't this oppressing weight on my shoulders any more. I feel…right. As in not completely fucked up. I shouldn't feel that way. I don't deserve it.
There was a knock at my door. I hate the way Wilson always knocks before entering even though he lives here.
The door opened with a soft groan and Wilson walked in, snow falling from his jacket. "I brought the beer." He said holding up a case of the amber liquid.
Amber. Fuck. I hate when I remember things like that. Sometimes I wish I had died from the crash or the DBS or the knife in the socket or an 'accidental' overdose. The list goes on.
"Great." I said, putting false cheer in my voice. I folded my arms over my chest and tried to focus all my attention on the television but I couldn't. I could smell him from where I was sitting. I could tell it was his scent because it was the only odor out of place. It was different from our new apartment smell or the smell of his old apartment. He smelled good though, clean, like he just stepped out the shower. There was another scent too. Paper. That was it. Wilson smelled like paper when it just comes out the printer. I know this because I used to spend a lot of time at the library when I younger, printing out articles I thought I might like to read later. That's how I could place it. That's also probably why I liked it so much.
"Is something wrong?" He asked as he sat beside me. He handed me a beer with one perfectly manicured hand. I would never tell him that I used to touch his hand while he was sleeping just to see if they were as soft as they looked. They were but not only that, they were also softer then Stacy's. I liked them.
I shook my head. "Nope. Everything's fine." I was lying but I couldn't tell the truth to Wilson. He would only feel bad and try and put all the blame on himself.
I could literally feel his gaze on me and I squirmed under it for about a minute until he let out a long sigh. "Alright, whatever you say."
He took a long drink from his beer and I looked over as he did so, watching his lips make contact with the bottle. I watched as he licked his lips slowly to capture the lingering taste of the beer and I licked my own without thought.
"Wilson." I don't know why I said his name aloud but I do know I liked the sound of it. I liked the way my tongue touched the roof of my mouth when I said it. God, I loved it.
"Yeah?" He asked with a slight raise of the eyebrow.
I looked at him from the corner of my eye, studying the wrinkles of his shirt instead of looking at his eyes. I loved the way his eyes got looked in this light. "I'm kind of hungry. Let's go to the new Chinese restaurant."
Wilson shrugged. That casual little gesture made me want to rip off his shirt and make him do it again just so I can watch the muscles move under the skin.
"Great." I heaved myself to my feet and my leg gave out so I come crashing back down on the couch. "Shit." I hissed under my breath. I hated this, this pain that made me weak.
Wilson sat next to me, rubbing my back without thought. "Are you sure you're ok?"
"I'm fine." I said through clenched teeth. Of course fine was just an acronym: Fucked up. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional.
"No, you're not. You're obviously in a lot of pain-"
"You think?" I snapped sarcastically. I could see it hurt him and I hated myself for it even if it only lasted a second. "I'm sorry." I added in a quieter voice.
"It's alright." He kept rubbing my back as I gripped my thigh.
I snapped in split second. "No, Wilson, it's not alright. It's fucking awful and you and those other stupid bastards can't seem to comprehend that." I yelled. I knew I was hurting him but the pain in my leg was so bad I couldn't care at the moment. I had to make this stop.
Wilson wrapped his arms around me, the same way he had when I first had the infarction and Stacy was gone or when drugs seemed to do nothing. "I know I don't but I'm trying, House. Give me some credit."
I bent over my leg, gripping just below the chunk of missing muscle. "Get the hell away from me." I didn't want him here. I didn't want him to see me like this.
"I'm trying to help you." Wilson pulled back a little but his arm was still loosely draped around my shoulders. "Let me help."
"You can't help me, Wilson." I lashed out, sweeping my arm in an arc. The lamp that had been sitting on the stand next to our couch came crashing to the floor. The breaking of glass made me flinch but I quickly got over it and the expectation of a punishment. "Just go away." I whined. I whined. I hadn't done that since I was three and I hated it.
He got up. The bastard was actually listening to me. He always knew when I wanted him but now he was leaving. I closed my eyes as his arm slipped from my shoulders and grasped a handful of my Barking Irons T-shirt. I felt incredibly ill at the moment.
I listened to him make his way across the room and heard a door slam closed. I wanted to scream for him, make him come back and wrap his arms around me but I couldn't. I wanted to tell him how satisfied I would be if he just sat on the end of the Goddamn couch. I didn't.
"Here." I didn't even hear him come back but there he was, wiping of the thin layer of sweat on my forehead with a cool cloth.
I didn't say anything. I just sat there, praying to a god I didn't believe in to make the pain disappear. I think I would've broken something else if Wilson hadn't been there.
"You'll be fine." He murmured in my ear. He put his arm back around my shoulder and squeezed briefly.
For the next half an hour he held me, murmuring soothing words in my ear. I hung on to every word and repeated it in my mind just so I could try and focus on something else. Then the pain finally dissipated and I slowly loosened my grip on my thigh. My fingers stiff and numb from holding on for so long. Wilson tossed the cloth over the low wall into the kitchen sink. The lucky bastard. He took my hands in his and rubbed gently. He was looking at me but I couldn't look back. I didn't want him to see the vulnerability in my eyes. Maybe one I would. Maybe someday I would tell him how much I care.
AN- Maybe I'll add onto it. I don't really know yet. I don't even know why I wrote it. I guess it was just one of those days.