Thanks for the alerts and mps :)
About this chapter, there's a heated discussion between two characters about a delicate topic (you'll recognize it). Obviously, the authors and I don't want to offend anyone, it seemed only something that House could say seen his sharp nature and his dislike towards social communication.
CHAPTER 6
The psychologist looked up from the stack of papers placed in the center of his desk, then looked at the staid clock on the opposite wall. It was 5 minutes to 4 and Wilson, after a quick mental calculation, observed that there were still twenty minutes of rest before resuming work. His next patient was in the habit of always show up late.
Therefore, he couldn't help but be shocked when the clock read exactly 3 minutes to 4 and House made his entrance, cane in hand and a grin on his face.
"Good evening, Mr. Wilson" House said and played with his cane, rotating it in the air, and then sat on the chair located about two feet away from Wilson's desk.
"Hello, House. Why are you here...earlier?".
House smirked "You know that I couldn't wait to see you, Jimmy. Since when you threw me out of your house, my desire to meet you only increased...".
Wilson ignored his sarcastic comments, running his fingers on his silver letter opener "Very well, House, I'm glad that you're punctual. So, I think it's appropriate to resume our last discussion..." he pulled out a couple of sheets from a drawer, frowning while leafing through them "Here, yes...Your marriage...".
House's mouth twisted in an expression of disgust "Do we have to talk about it?".
Wilson sighed. "Obviously, House".
"Couldn't you make an exception?".
"No".
"I think I'd much rather watch those prefabricated scribbles of yours and talk to you about what my heart sees...".
Wilson stretched out his hands on the desk, tired "You tried to avoid every argument I've proposed. You didn't want to talk about your leg, or the Vicodin, or your childhood...And now even the wedding!".
House smiled slyly "But, dear Jimmy, try to understand me, I find them extremely boring topics. Why don't we talk about interesting things such as...Sex?".
Wilson let it go "House, I don't understand why you keep coming here If you have to be so stubborn...".
House dropped his cane on the floor "First, because my fat boss forces me, I think he's the only person in the world convinced that I suffer from mental disorders...I mean, come on, have you seen me? !".
Wilson stared at him, frowning.
"And second, because I love the jealousy of your wife. You're crazy about me, and she cannot do anything about it" he smiled dreamily like a happy child who had just made his worst enemy tripping.
"Ok, House, do you think that now we can begin to talk about serious things or do we want to be like this until tonight?".
House snorted, deeply annoyed.
"Good, the last time we were down to...The end of your marriage. I wish you told me what was the straw that broke the camel's back, what precisely has dissolved the bond that existed between you and your wife?".
"I haven't understood your question".
Wilson glared at him.
"What, at school it always worked!" he noticed that Wilson, like every Thursday afternoon, was beginning to lose his patience. He was able to conceal it everytime, being the good psychologist he was, but inside he really wanted to smash something on his head.
'God, how much I enjoy it!'.
"I mean, House...What destroyed your relationship? The conversation, sex, lack of children...".
House looked disgusted "Dear Jimmy, about the conversation between the two of us I realized I had nothing to talk about except politics bills almost a week after marrying her; for the sex...Well, sex is a big word, the only time that Lisa and I had a simultaneous orgasm was when the judge handed us the divorce sentence; for the children..." he pointed at himself "Can you see my clear desire to be a father?".
Wilson stayed in silence, House had silenced him.
"I see, House ..." Wilson took a deep breath "When you started to betray her?".
House thought about it, starting to count with his hands "Five years after the wedding".
"It was only once, or...".
"I slept with another woman about once every three months, sometimes every four, or every two".
Wilson wrote something on his agenda. House tried to peer in vain.
"And you felt, well...satisfied?".
House couldn't suppress a mischievous look "You want to know if I liked it every time? Well, actually there was some pretty bad night, but overall I think I was pretty lucky".
"Good for you, but frankly I don't care. I meant, how did you feel after? Satisfied, happy, depressed, sorry...".
House shrugged "Satisfied, sure, you can say that again. But I bet she had some boyfriend too, so why would I feel guilty?".
Wilson didn't answer.
House noted that he was becoming more serious, in the room dropped a tense atmosphere.
'Let them come, Mr. Wilson...'.
"After the accident...I mean, after that time...Have you ever wanted to try again?".
House didn't answer immediately, as usual. He seemed rather to think about it seriously for a few seconds before lowering his voice to some degree "It was everything already done before even taking her to the altar, Wilson. It wasn't a good thing giving birth to a child in those conditions...We both knew that sooner or later it would have ended, she continued to cling to a shred of dummy hope for a few years, but she knew it".
Wilson nodded seriously "But House, I really do not understand...It's been six years since the divorce and, as far as I know, you're still not able to recreate a stable relationship...Why?".
House pretended to be deeply offended "And what do you say about the prostitutes? In the end, it's like being in a wedding...Along with the microwave".
"House, you know that having sex with someone, and most importantly to pay for it, doesn't mean being in a stable relationship!".
House stood in silence, sighing bored.
"I think you should go out, go to some bar, and maybe meet someone...".
"Wilson, I think you've missed a tiny detail: I sleep with prostitutes, so I don't have to talk about politics, movies, Proust. Everyone is happy this way".
Wilson shook his head, annoyed "Do you really feel satisfied, House? You can really feel complete having sex with a woman who doesn't know you and that consider you nothing but work?".
House shook his head "No, no, my dear Jimmy, I'd say great sex. For example, last Sunday, a beautiful brunette, Evy, fabulous legs...".
"House...".
"If you want I'll give you her number, although I don't think that...".
"I don't need prostitutes, House, tries to understand it! There are men who need to be loved!".
House remained silent, so that Wilson thought he was really thinking about what he had just said.
"What do you think peluches are meant for? You should buy one, my Cupid, I think it will be necessary when you find out that Lily is fucking your plumber in your bed".
Wilson sighed deeply, shaking his head for the umpteenth time.
"What do you say, my little misunderstood sentimentalist, can we change the subject now?".
Wilson seemed to think about it for a few seconds, then he raised his arms in surrender, resigned "Ok, you win".
Carpet, wall, carpet, wall, carpet again, wall again.
The unnerving noise of the bouncing ball against the carpet and against the wall and then to its owner's hand, again and again, was going on for over half an hour. And the background music, the only nice thing, was almost non existent.
He sighed in resignation, putting the mop against the wall, the noise stopped...
'God, thank you...'
"What, you already done?".
He took the mop again and began to clean the floor of the hall, he didn't want a conversation. He didn't want him there.
"Why, it changes anything?".
"I have a cane, I'm a cripple, I could slip through the hallway to get to the elevators If the floor was wet".
'Great vision...'.
He sighed, lowering his gaze back on the floor, the noise of the chair that turns and then that noise that made everyone disappear from the corridors: step-by-blow, step-by-blow, step-by-blow...
The sole of the snikers striding on the wet floor, he felt him snorting.
"Would you like it, eh?".
He didn't look up at him, he didn't want to give him satisfaction "What, doctor?".
"Oh come on, avoid this proselytizing just because you're the servant and I'm the doctor. If you didn't know that I'm a head of Department, you'd have already robbed me in the parking lot".
Eric smiled, standing up, he leant on the mop, staring at him. It was unbearable the way that man could piss him off...He'd prefer to spend an afternoon listening to Annie talking about whether is more cool Orlando Blood or that other man who made that film with the dragon.
But it was Friday, the next day he'd be at home, he knew he wasn't inferior to him.
"Well, I think it would be a pleasure to approximately 70% of the hospital If you slipped".
"Do you want to tell me that you know how much is 70% of the workforce of the hospital?".
'Son of a bitch...'.
He tightened his grip when he saw him taking his yo-yo from his pocket, grinning, waiting for his reply.
...I fell down in the desert baby, I had nothing but a piece of paper, yeah! I had to write something down, And I found myself alone, and then I let go of everything, Into another dimension...
He returned to his office, turning up the volume of the stereo, the song filling the room.
He took another deep breath. He convinced himself that he had nothing better to do than to stress him every Friday afternoon, maybe they were more alike than what he thought, maybe he wasn't a bastard, it was only a facade, he acted for the simple fact that no one had ever doubted that it was fake.
'Ok...Let's see If we can communicate...'.
"What will you do this weekend, doctor?".
The doctor turned as If he hadn't heard, while fixing his backpack (putting inside everything you wouldn't expect from a doctor) "I'm not going to go to cultivate cotton or to sing clapping for the glory of the Lord, brother" and he returned to what he was doing, and Eric was astonished.
"This is racism".
"Oh God, you black people stick to the topic of racism like children stick to the skirts of their mothers when they have to get the vaccine" he came out of his office, turning off the lights, staring at him "That was not racism, you want to know how it would be a racist joke? More or less like this: in answer to your question, what do I do in my free weekend when I do not waste time in clinic to save the black ass of your brothers that steal money to the system that cares for them, it's not of your business, but in all probability I'm going to put on a white hood and to set fires in some Afro-American community, you'll recognize me by the cane".
He walked away like nothing had happened, and Eric was stunned, still with half a corridor to clean, he didn't know what to say. Now he was sure that they were not similar, but he still couldn't understand.
'He spits venom for the simple fact that he's capable to or his reasoning is more complicated?'.
The 'tlin' of the elevator was unmistakable, again the soles of his snickers.
"Ah right, just for the record, servant of Friday".
He observed him blocking the elevator with the cane.
"I want to remain the doctor who you greet with a nod, no interacting, I'm not good, I'm not my assistants. You can talk with them" and he disappeared (finally) when the doors closed.
Out of the hospital, he was in a hurry, he had no one to say goodbye, he had no pleasantries to be exchanged with the nurse at the reception. He stopped a couple of steps away from his bike.
Aesthetically speaking, it was a punch in the eye, it was orange, and there were better bikes in the market. But he felt like God (more than the other times) the first time he pulled over 140 km/h. So it seemed a good orange color to him. Now, however, there were fine fingers with black enamel caressing the hull, big dark eyes, and a white smile. He turned down the Ipod.
"You're too young to smile at me that way".
"It's yours?".
"You're too young to even talk to me like I was your friend".
The girl smiled, putting her hands in the pockets of her torn jeans "That's cool".
He went to her, grinning, climbing on top of his bike, ignoring her. He put down the cane, slipping on his helmet "I know, it's mine".
TBC...