Okay! Here comes the drama! We'll find out why Debra relates to House so well, and vice versa!
This is the pivotal point of the story that I'd been alluding to, as to why I've covered so much of Debra lately. It is emotional, and NOT to sound conceited, but I think really, really emotional, which is what I'm hoping I've conveyed.
WARNING: As I am not getting into heavy detail of a certain aspect in Debra's past, it could be a little disturbing. THEREFORE: I'm rating this chapter an –R – This has totally been fabricated by me, but something I can empathize with and put into words. This was difficult for me and I mean no disrespect to those that may have experienced it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Part One
"You know, I'm getting real tired of looking at your butt when you stare out that window," Debra whispered, her voice dry and scratchy.
Wilson's head turned in a flash and he raced to her bedside. "Deb…Debra…how are you feeling?" he asked, keeping his hands on the bedrail and not touching her, a posture that Debra picked up on right away.
Her eyes were only half open and the rims of her eyes were swollen and extremely red, adding a million crows-feet on each corner and purple highlights under both eyes. She hadn't felt any better, even after four more hours of sleep since Cameron left her.
"Jim, I didn't…"
"Shhh, don't. You need rest. Do you want some water?"
She nodded her head and said, "Didn't mean to kill myself…I just wanted to feel bet…"
Wilson poured some ice water into a glass on the tray by the bed, turned around and handed it to her then realized she wouldn't be able to drink it without the bed propped up, so he did that first then handed her the glass. She drank it eagerly and handed it back to him, throwing her head back into the pillow.
Wilson kept his eyes on her silently; he didn't believe a word of it. "Why, Debra?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She frowned and knew it was going to come; she'd watched her husband stand at the window for ten minutes thinking of what exactly to say to him. She thought she was ready when she spoke his name, but apparently not.
"I told you, I didn't." Her eyes flew open but only briefly before they were forced back half-shut. "Oh, God...I wouldn't…"
"Yes, you would," came a voice from the doorway.
Both Wilson and Debra turned to see who it was, though they already knew.
"House, out," Wilson told him curtly but House ignored him. He sauntered into the room and stood on the other side of the bed, leaning against the wall.
"I just wanted the pain to go away…I wanted to feel better. I just wasn't thinking straight," she muttered, trying to keep her voice calm and the tears at bay. She looked from her husband to her cousin back to her husband. Her eyes pleaded for Wilson to believe her but she read no sympathy in them whatsoever.
"Why didn't you just talk to me? If it was something I did then we could have talked about it," Wilson said.
Debra had her mouth open to answer the question when House said, "Because, it wasn't you."
Wilson looked at House confused, but Debra continued to look at her husband. She'd closed her eyes and seemed to pretend House wasn't even there, but with his overpowering presence that wasn't about to happen.
"Wha'?" Wilson stuttered.
"She loves you, and she loves Gregory; it's her parents she hates."
Wilson shot House a glance that could have killed if they were laser beams. Debra slowly opened her eyes and looked at Wilson, defeat and weakness in her eyes. She was speechless, and it wasn't because of the effects of the Prozac overdose.
House took a few steps closer to the bed, practically standing over top of her. "Well, you love Aunt Sharon; it's Uncle George you hate."
Debra slowly blinked and turned to look at House. "I most certainly do not…"
"Bull shit!" House screamed, causing Debra's eyes to fly all the way open but they didn't stay that way; they bounced back to the half-shut position. "We're in the same boat, aren't we?" he asked; his head tilted and his eyes narrowed, waiting for the answer.
Wilson looked at him confused, but Debra knew exactly what he was talking about. Yet words failed her; reassurance from her husband failed her, too, but only because he didn't realize the gravity of the situation.
"What did he do to you?" House asked with a flicker of anger that flared in his azure-blue eyes.
Debra swallowed hard and looked away from him, repositioned herself on the bed and groaned from the ache that reverberated through her body from the drug in her system.
"House, not now," Wilson said, trying to deflate the mood in the room.
"No, no. He's right." Now it was Wilson's turn to flinch as he looked at his wife when she spoke. She looked back at her cousin but stretched out her right hand to Wilson, who took it and squeezed it tight.
"How did you know?" she asked House weakly.
"A few clues. What did he do to you?" he asked again, this time more forceful and angry.
Debra took a deep breath and seemed to hold it forever until she exhaled and talked of her nightmare, House-style.
"You ever wonder why I felt – feel – so close to you, Greg? Ever wonder why I could relate to you so well? Why I wanted you to move in with us? Wanted to spend so much time with you over the summers? Wonder why I'd cry in the room next to your bedroom from hearing you cry because your father smacked the crap out of you for doing something so small and meaningless it wasn't even worth it? Or even the times he sent you to bed without dinner…because I knew…what you were going through." The last few words were barely above a whisper, but she was heard.
She was definitely heard.
House nodded his head in silence; only the two of them knowing what she meant. Wilson's legs seemed to collapse under him as he slowly began to guess and he had to sit down on the bed beside her to prevent keeling over. Debra looked at Wilson and lifted his arm with her hand in his and squeezed it, forcing a smile, a very unnatural and fake smile.
"Did he touch you?" House asked, not wanting to hear the answer. Wilson's eyes shot up at House but House didn't pay attention to Wilson; as far as he was concerned, Wilson wasn't even there. Debra didn't answer; she continued to look at Wilson.
"DID HE TOUCH YOU?!" The urgency and volume of House's question shook her, as she had never, ever heard him use that tone with her.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; a hot tear fell from her right eye. Wilson wiped it away with his free left hand.
"Yes."
