I left you heartbroken, but not until those very words were spoken
Has anybody ever made such a fool out of you
It's hard to believe it
Even as my eyes do see it
Shelter by Ray LaMontagne
Chapter 4 – Goodbye
"It's late," Wilson says by way of a greeting as he steps out onto his balcony. "Your patient is diagnosed. Why are you still here?"
You merely stand, leaning your arms against the wall and staring at the stars. You've been waiting around for him; you don't want to, but you need to talk. You're tired of putting up a front, even for your patient, a virtual stranger to you.
"Inertia sucks," you finally reply.
"Okay," Wilson says unsurely, leaning with his back against the wall and looking sideways at you. You know he has no idea what you're talking about. How could he? You've been having this conversation in your head for an hour or more; Wilson came in the middle.
"As principles go, it sucks. Things are either going to stay the same or they're going to keep right on changing. That's just … moronic," you say gruffly.
"Right," Wilson says, and his tone of voice makes his confusion clear. "Well, it's always been my least favorite theory of physics. I mean, make up your mind for Pete's sake."
You roll your eyes and push off the wall, grabbing your cane and moving to walk back inside. You hate that he's glib when you're serious. After all these years of trying to make him believe you don't want to talk…you've succeeded. It may be what you want, but it's not what you need.
"House," Wilson calls. "What the hell is this all about? You've been weird lately, even by your standards. First you run circles around everyone trying to get Foreman to stay and then you turn around and fire Chase. What's going on?"
"Inertia, Wilson," you say, grateful in some measure that he hasn't been completely trained out of it. "Weren't you paying attention?"
"House," Wilson says sternly.
"It's not just a law of physics," you say slowly, tapping your cane on the asphalt beneath your feet. You keep your back to him and images of your now former team flash in your mind. "It also applies to life. Foreman resigned. That started the ball rolling. Turns out, a cripple doesn't have enough force to stop it. " You stop tapping the cane and smirk at it bitterly.
"And firing Chase?"
"Chase needed a push. I had enough force to change that," you tell him, and it's by far the most logical and sane reason you've come up with so far.
"So, what, you're saying you got swept up in the inertia and decided change was a good thing?" Wilson asks doubtfully.
"Can't stop it, might as well roll with it." You take two steps toward the door to your office and stop. You stare at your sneakers; you don't want him to catch even a glimpse of your face reflected in the glass doors.
"Cameron quit."
"What?" Wilson barks. He walks along the dividing wall toward you. "When? Why?"
"Cameron quit, about an hour ago, said she'd gotten all she could from the job," you answer in staccato bursts designed to stop any trace of caring from creeping into your voice. "She said she'd miss me."
"House," Wilson begins but you are already sliding the balcony door shut. You lock it behind you, knowing Wilson will follow if you leave him an opening. You grab your headphones and place them over your ears, wanting only to drown out the rest of the world. You lie on the floor, long legs propped up on the seat of your office chair and lose yourself in the music.
"Say hi to Chase for me. You're wearing lipstick," you say as you look at Cameron. You sound spiteful and you hate yourself for saying it. She hasn't started rotting yet; she is beautiful and young and alive and she isn't yours. She nods her head sadly and turns to walk away. You wonder now if those words are what drive her decision.
Have you finally driven her away for good?
You blink and she is sitting in your chair. You close the space between you and she stands, handing you her resignation letter. You can only look at her. You want to tell her…something. You don't know what, but something that would make her stay. Screw rolling with inertia; she can't leave you too. You open your mouth and insanity spills out. You are saying words you have no control over, words that are not what you want to say. They are cool, they are logical and they are, if not a lie, hiding the truth. You ask what she expects you to do.
"I expect you to be just fine," she says as she walks around the desk. You want her to stop, because even in your dream you know what is coming next, but you have no more words for her.
She begins to gray but instead of melting this time she is drying up, crumbling and turning to dust. Her hair splinters and breaks off in strands, collapsing into puffs of dust before they can hit the floor. She lays her hand on your arm and looks up at you with her once lovely eyes.
"I'll miss you," she says, and cracks run across her face as she speaks. She smiles and a chunk of her chin falls off and hits the floor, exploding into millions of tiny grains. She moves and you grab her arm to stop her, but it's too late. She disintegrates in your grasp, and you are left clinging to a few stray grains of sand and a lingering cloud of dust.
You wake slowly, squinting in the darkness that is your office. You raise your hand, rub your fingers together and blink unconsciously against the sand and dust you expect to fall into your eyes. You pull yourself from the floor and throw the headphones carelessly on your desk. You pick up your bag from the desk and leave your office. You can't stand another moment there alone.
Your walk home clears your mind considerably. You arrive home to find your new guitar has been delivered. It's enough of a distraction for you to push her out of your mind. You're certainly practiced enough at that.
As you play, you run the dream over in your mind and realize it's just another ending. It's different from the other dreams. There is nothing for you to figure out, no frightening images for you to decipher, no cryptic dialogue. There is a sense of finality about it that you can accept. You don't think the nightmare will continue. She's gone.