Author note:- Thanks again for the reviews, I'm glad you enjoying it as much as I am enjoying writing it. This is one of the penultimate chapters as I would like to draw it to a close, but would like to know if you would be interested in a sequel… anyway continue on…
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It's odd that you can get so anesthetized by your own pain or your own problem that you don't fully share the hell of someone close to you.
-Lady Bird Johnson
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He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to bring some sort of physicality to his thoughts. He pretended that each dull thud against the hardened leather was a gunshot wound, slowly causing him to release the pressure within his mind and body. The thoughts and emotions that he refused to show pooled within him pressing down on his lungs, making it harder to breath and making him numb.
The pressure has built up to such a level that he cannot speak, the pain in his leg and the conflict in his mind fighting for attention and suddenly he cannot bear it any more.
He screams and yells, pushing all of this pressure out into the open. He is lucky he is in a secluded area as his voice is loud even above the stereo. This is one of those moments where he can't be near anyone. No one can see him like this and he despises himself. He pounds his fist against his good leg, leaving bruises for the morning- this is how he escapes when the drugs don't work.
Pressing his forehead against the wheel he closes his eyes and breathes. In. Out. In. Out. An alternation between warmth and cold on his lips and he wonders how he came to be here. How he came to be this, and he laughs a cold laugh which wont stop. Full of despair and longing it fills his head, and it is with detachment that he realizes that his cell phone is ringing insistently and he stops his laughter to answer.
"Hello?"
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Wilson was ironing his tie when he got the call. It was the little things he did that made people notice his appearance. During his brief stay at House's apartment he had subversively gone through his closet and ironed every shirt and tie House owned, knowing it probably wouldn't be done again. The cell phone rang breaking through the gentle stream of Sinatra through the speakers, and he made to answer it tripping over a stray shirt as he moved. The phone ceased its ringing just as he found it and it was with a flash of concern that he realized it was Cameron's number which had called him. He redialed, curious as to what she had to say to him this late at night. The dialing tone ceased and was replaced with the sound of breathing
"Cameron? You there?"
"Wilson, I don't….."
This was not like Cameron. Even with this recent shift in personality she was still able to put up a front when talking to someone. Hearing her stumble on those three words was enough to suggest that something was wrong. The tone signaled that she had hung up, and Wilson pulled a jacket on over his T-Shirt and left for her apartment determined to help her in whatever way he could.
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Cameron entered her apartment with her shopping in tow and placed it on the counter. As far as she could see there was little point in unpacking it and she sat down on the couch and leaned her head back against the cushions. Sleep was quick to claim her despite still being in her work suit and heels and she relaxed into the softness and let her mind take over.
She woke to find herself half slumped off the cushions and with her neck aching at the awkward angle at which it had been at rest. Standing slowly she steadied herself with the arm of the chair, kicking off her shoes and unbuttoning the jacket. Looking over at the counter she saw the grocery bag unpacked and resting on its side. I swear I didn't unpack…I guess I really was tired…She slides her jacket from her tired shoulders and goes into her room, tossing it onto a chair. Her top is quick to follow and she finds that she only needs the minimum of movement to remove her suit pants; she doesn't even need to undo the fly, and they fall to the floor like the removal of a shroud. Stepping out of her underwear she reaches for the black jogging pants she wears to bed and pulls them on, noting how they now skim much more over her thighs than before. She knows she has lost weight but she doesn't care, it was unintentional and therefore not a problem. Not like I have an eating disorder or anything…
Hearing a sound from the other room she pulls on a top and cautiously steps out to see nothing but the curtain billowing at the open window. She goes towards the kitchen and reaches for the cupboard where the vodka is kept, and feels a hand clasp round her mouth and another round her stomach.
She struggles against her captor, thrashing her body around in his iron grip but to no avail; giving up she slumps against him, reserving her energy for the next attempt, but too soon her world goes black and she slips into unconsciousness.
Waking once again she shakes her head to clear it of the cloudy murk that swims behind her eyes, and finds her hands and feet bound as she sits on her bathroom floor with no ideas as to how she got there. She can feel a presence behind her, malevolent and dangerous and she closes her eyes not wishing to see what is holding her there. Footsteps move to the front of her and stop and she feels the face close in to her. Darkness pours through her veins, an evil terrible darkness, and she gasps as it fills her soul. A thousand evils scream through the air and suddenly it is all too much, her eyes open wide and stare into the face of her abuser and she screams from the depth of her soul in the purest form of terror- primal and savage. It rips at the throat of poor Allison Cameron, aged 28, sitting on the tiled floor of her bathroom while her head spins with all the negative emotions in existence; and then just like that she stops.
The unknown person comes into focus and it is the mirror woman she had seen as if in a dream, clenching onto her shoulder with a vice grip. This is strength she has never seen from a woman, and she had been so convinced it was a man who had put her here. The pain gives a focus to the huddled woman tied our on the floor, and she bites back a sob. It is too late that she realizes it is herself as the hand closes around her throat causing her to jerk like a fish out of water struggling for a last breath.
The last thing she sees is the woman caressing her face with a cold hand as her other one clenches around her throat, she is drawn into the smothering darkness and she submits without fighting.
No fighting anymore.