So, another chapter. Hope you will like it.
And my evil planed failed, and I still do not own House. I am devastated.
Chapter 4
Escaping your fathers footsteps
The man, hanging from his neck in a bright pink scotch rope, shared many of the same features as Greg's father. His dark angry eyes starred at Greg, with a terrifying look of malice. His voice was like that of a commander in the army, or a strict father disciplining his disobedient child, and yet it was alluring and inviting:
"Come on son, hang yourself up next to me, it's the only way too get the straight back the army deserves and expects."
Another rope fell from the roof, dangling right above Gregory's head. He suddenly was a seven-year-old boy again, standing in front of his father while the old man was ranting and raving about the greatness of the marines. Gregory just stood there, eyes filling slowly with tears, his legs exhausted after standing in attention for three hours straight. And all the time he wanted too scream that he did not wish too be a damn marine, he wanted to be a doctor. But he dared not, afraid of the horror that would be bound to follow such a disgraceful remark. And his father just kept on screaming about honour.
"You are never going to be a real man, staying in your room all the time, reading those fucking books and listening too that fagot music. …And are you crying, you stinking piece of shit. You are such a good damn girl, you are never gonna amount to anything. I never thought it possible to despise anyone more than those motherfucking gooks, but congratulations, kid, you just proved me wrong. Get out and run 10 laps round the house, before I no longer can hold my anger, and beat that sorry ass of yours so bad, that no bloody queer are ever gonna be able to fuck you up your sorry ass!"
With a quick salute and a weak, sir, yes sir, Gregory ran out the house, as swiftly as his tender seven-year-old legs would carry him, stiff from standing as straight as an arrow for more then 200 minutes. Out in the darkness, rain and storm, running round, and round, till he collapsed in the mud face down. He didn't even bother to get up, he knew his father wouldn't let him into the house again, claiming that some real experience might sharpen the boy up. Gregory was just thankful that his fathers teaching this time did not include hanging him from the roof by his wrists, "It's the only thing that's ever gonna straighten up your weak girly back!"
Wilson had in the end, no longer able to sustain his bodily odour and greasy hair, gone home to shower and change. The warm spray from the shower eased the pains in his back and shoulder, from first sleeping in the sofa from hell, (he sometimes suspected Greg had stuffed it with rocks and pebbles, just to make him suffer), and then spending three days straight in, that now despised, hospital chair. He had changed into scrubs a few hours after Greg was admitted, since his clothes reeked of sleep, whiskey, sweat and hamburgers, but he still was covered in an uncomfortable flimmer of stench, a constant reminder of those last happy hours.
He packed an overnight bag, and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with the words: Vah! Denuone latine loquebar? Me ineptum. Interdum modo elabitur, printed in front. Greg had forgotten it as his place some time ago, and now it seemed the only way he could feel close to him, stupid as it may feel, (and look, in that dreadful tasteless t-shirt, in red and green).
He walked in Greg's door 40 minutes later to see Cameron standing beside House's bed, looking forlorn and with a look of mind-blowing sadness in her eyes. He froze by the door, uncertain as to how he should react to this. He knew Cameron still harboured strong feelings for his buddy, and he knew how House felt about those feelings; only disdain and annoyance. So when Cameron leaned down, and gently grazed House's lips with her own, doctor James Wilson finally snapped. The strain and stress of the last few days cracked open his mind, and let the seldom seen Jimmy appear, the Jimmy that only House had a close acquaintance too. With a growl, he leaped forward, and slapped Allison Cameron hard across the face. The wetness and redness of her cheeks, now multiplied with ten, she gave Jimmy a look of hurt that would have made James Wilson kneel before her, and beg fot her forgiveness, but only managed to increase Jimmy's rage tenfold.
"You fucking whore, how dare you touch him while he is defenseless, if I ever see you do that again, I will rip out your heart and feed it to Steve!"
Cameron made a strange terrified sound, and ran out the room, probably to cry on Chase's shoulder, or blab her mouth to Cuddy, too get him fired. But he couldn't care less, with a heartbreaking sob, he collapsed in the chair, and when Chase ten minutes later came to "whoop his ass", as he so coolly told his lady love when he left her, he just quietly backed out, tears stinging his eyes and a deep sadness filling his heart by the sight in front of him. The calm and patient doctor Wilson, the very picture of respectability, who never once had entered the hospital doors in an unironed shirt, was lying on the hospital bed. He was clutching his closest friend as close as he could, face buried in the other mans chest, producing throaty sounds and whining gasps, so filled with despair and hopelessness, that the young aussie felt his heart shatter at the sight.
Liked it? Hated it? Wish to kill med too release the world from the horror that is my writing? Please let me know. Reviews are a great way to pass those boring, mindnumbing minutes that a life makes.