I don't care if it hurts

I want to have control

I want a perfect body

I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice when I'm not around

-Radiohead

Feeling Blue

Blue is the color of many things. The sky, the ocean, it is also the color of her eventual demise.

When she opens her door, he is leaning against the frame.

He stands there, looking down at her, waiting.

But he has come to her. She wants him to make the first move. Which he does.

"You're keeping something from me."

His voice is even, he isn't angry, this is merely an observation. Cameron looks beyond him and sees her crotchety old neighbor, Mrs. Farris,

sending her most condescending glare down the hall towards Cameron's door; obviously eyeing up her late night visitor. It seems House

had made an extra effort to knock at an inappropriately loud decibel. She steps aside, opening the door, silently ushering him into her

home. The last thing she needs is her elderly neighbor complaining to the landlord that she brings mysterious men into her apartment under

the cover of darkness. He looks at her skeptically before pushing himself off the doorframe, crossing the threshold.

Uncharted territory.

"I'm allowed to have secrets. You're just my boss. My personal life is none of your business."

Why is she saying this?

Actually it is your business because I want you in my personal life.

And you've always been more than a boss.

"If it affects your job-which is has- it is my business."

She can think of no retort for this.

"Why are you here House? What do you w--"

He isn't looking at her; he is across the room, observing her bookshelves; his eyes are scanning the spines, examining her photos, and inspecting her various knick-knacks, when he interrupts her mid-sentence.

"You base your entire perspective on the belief that people are generally good and moral beings,"

Here we go again-she thinks.

"You have spent the last three years debating over every ethical quandary that's come through my office door, and you have never been

quiet about it. But now,"

He turns to face her; begins stalking towards her. She still hasn't moved more that a foot from her closed door.

"I might as well use patients as my own personal pin cushions since you don't seem to challenge my decisions anymore."

He keeps coming closer. Her breathing becomes shallower.

"So, I have to assume that your newfound spell of silence," he stops directly in front of her, "has to do with me."

Now all she sees is blue. He towers over her. She thinks this one encounter will suffice her fantasies for weeks to come.

She can smell him.

Her eyes tentatively flick up to meet his.

It's like the severity of gaze extracts all the oxygen from the room, and suddenly she needs air, needs space.

She tries to push past him further into the room, but his hand encircles her wrist.

The force of his pull draws her against his body.

She finally feels him.

She is surprised to feel his arousal.

She notices a new look in his eyes. She recognizes this look. She has seen it before in her own eyes: depravity.

He wants her.

His eyes are no longer looking at hers, no, now they are intently focused on her lips.

He leans forward, just enough to brush his lips against hers.

He does not close his eyes.

She is too startled to react at all.

Upon reflecting this moment, Cameron will realize that it doesn't feel like a kiss at all, more like an experimental trial.

It was as if he was only trying to determine what it felt like, and gauge her reaction.

"This…this is what you want." He says it slowly, as if it is a new realization.

Like you didn't already know.

Cameron can only nod. She sees that he is thinking, over-analyzing, so she stands up on her tiptoes to try and reach his lips again, but he moves away from her.

"I should go."

He releases the hold he has on her, and she senses the disconnect immediately.

Within moments he has moved past her and out the door, the latch clicking with the finality of his hurried exit.

Her tongue runs over her lips, trying to find any taste of him left behind.

She knows this attempt is futile.

That kiss wasn't strong enough to leave an aftertaste, yet it feels so significant.

No, it was only a ghost of a kiss.

Instead of feeling complete rejection, she feels something closer to elation.

This is progress.

Granted, it isn't one of her illicit fantasies where they engage in sensuous acts on her living room floor, but it is definitely something.

She had felt, if only for a brief moment, the feel of his body pressed along her front, the pressure of his arousal pushing her, the sensation

of his lips against her own. She realizes that she needs that feeling.

She has never wanted anything more in her life.

Now she has affirmed that he wants her.

She had her suspicions but now she is certain.

Now she has the confidence she needs to possess him, to control their eventual union.

She will have him. It's only a matter of time.

Ugh, the more I read this the more I dislike it. It's odd, I first envisioned this going much differently in my mind, oh well.

Let me know what you think!