Greg came back to the table after ten minutes. I was still very confused, "Is something wrong?"
"I just saw someone familiar," he didn't look at me.
I shook my head, "Well, who?"
"Her name is Amber," Greg stared at his glass of water. "She worked for me for a little bit while I was assembling a new team."
Pulling back from the table, I melted into my chair, "Okay, so…"
He traced his finger across the table, "She used was Wilson's girlfriend for awhile."
"I don't see the problem," I smiled meekly.
For a moment, Greg was silent. He looked up at me for a second and then quickly away, "She's dead."
Shock was all that passed through me. Dead. "Dead? You saw her? You saw a dead woman? What is this? The Sixth Sense?"
"I'm starting to believe that."
I narrowed my eyes, "Do you know why?"
"Kind of," Greg mumbled. "Yes."
"Then… what is it?" I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking.
He leaned toward me, "Look, Marilyn-"
"No, we're not just going to dance around it. If you know what's wrong, you have to tell me."
"Why?"
I put my hands onto the table, "Because I care."
"Don't worry about me, okay?" Greg put his hand on mine. "Look, I brought you here to have a nice dinner, not an interrogation."
"But… but something is wrong. You're hallucinating," I took a moment to gather my thoughts. "I'll leave this until after dinner. Fine. Fine, I will."
He nodded, "Thank you."
I turned back to look out the window. Everything had just fallen apart. What was going on with him? Who exactly was Amber? I couldn't speak afterwards. A young waiter came up to our table. "Can I start you both off with something to drink?"
"Vodka," I said and then looked up at the waiter. "Please."
Greg stared blankly at the table, "Same."
The waiter seemed afraid of us, our hostility in our answers. He walked away slowly.
"How is-" Greg began.
I cut him off, "Rosie's been doing great in school, she's very happy, haven't heard a cough."
"Work… How is work?" he tensed a little.
"Work," I stated. "Work is fine."
Speaking softly, Greg clenched his fists, "Marilyn, you need to stop."
"That isn't the way I operate," I watched his knuckles turn white. "Things cannot be put off until a better time because that time may never come."
He started to growl, "You just have to listen to me. It's okay. I'll be fine."
"It's not fine. It's not," I felt a light sensation in my chest and stood up. "I need a moment."
I went into the bathroom and stood in front of the golden framed mirrors. My face was completely flush and I could feel my heart palpitating. Turning on the faucet, I took a deep breath and put my hands beneath the stream of water. The frigid liquid made me shiver quickly before I pulled away.
After I went to the bathroom, I came back with a new attitude and let Greg have his way. "So how has work been?"
"Workish," he smiled up at me.
3rd Person
House sat on his couch, tapping his cane on the ground. The night hadn't gone as planned. He pulled out the bottle of Vicodin in his coat and poured all of them onto the glass table. One by one, he lined them up.
He was so confused about Amber. He had detoxed, she had disappeared. But now she was back and she was interfering with his relationship.
"Why didn't you tell me?" a voice echoed behind him.
House turned to see Marilyn standing in the hallway, calm and composed.
"How did you get in here?" he dashed the pills across the table.
"You don't trust me, do you?" Marilyn stepped down the hall.
Perplexed, House examined the woman in front of him. She had a light air about her, not at all the Marilyn he knew. "I didn't think so," she smiled and leaned on the wall.
"I just dropped you off at your house…" he stood up.
"You never thought of me as trustworthy, honest," Marilyn came forward. "Loyal to the right answers."
House closed his eyes. He didn't understand what she was saying, "I don't-"
"But you were never the model of a good father or boyfriend, were you?" she smiled. "I forced this on you. You never would have tried if I hadn't forced it on you. You know that."
House watched her hands twist on the axis of her wrists. "Why are you saying that?"
"You don't care… You never did," Marilyn pursed her lips.
"Of course I do," he frowned. "You know that."
She met his gaze. Her eyes were burning, "You're lying."
"No, I'm not. Marilyn, stop," House growled. He felt his hands clench into fists.
"I thought that I loved you," she murmured. "I thought that you were different than every other man, but you're not. You're a-"
He grabbed her shoulders, shaking them, "Stop! Stop it!"
"Let go of me!" Marilyn didn't try to get away. She just screamed at him like he was a stranger. A stranger who knew nothing about him. About them.
"Marilyn, listen to me-"
"No!"
"Stop!"
"Is that what you want?" House couldn't help it. He couldn't keep his rage back. He pushed Marilyn up against the wall, "You want me to stop?"
She tried breathed out, "Greg, you're hurting me."
"You are wrong. You are so, so wrong."
Marilyn didn't speak, but pushed him back, "You mean nothing to me, anymore."
House stopped for a moment and thought, This is bad. This isn't her. This can't be real.
The game changed. Marilyn jumped toward him, clawing at him. Her screeches only pained him more. House closed his eyes, hoping this wasn't reality. Because if it was, he wouldn't be proud of the thing he was about to do. Reaching for her wrists, he tried to look at her and say in the most sincere tone he could muster, "I'm sorry."
And then he did it. House forced her into a book case. Her head snapped back. The noise. The noise killed House. The cross between a gurgle and a yelp. Marilyn didn't fight anymore.
He swallowed. Blood dripped down from her temple. Finally, she whispered, "Fine. You win."
Then he let her fall.
The next morning House woke up on the floor of his apartment in a small puddle of his own blood. And then he knew: Marilyn hadn't been there last night. Marilyn hadn't been there at all.
