housefic: she stood in her bedroom
Oh my goodness, I wrote something. Gasp!
She stood in her bedroom, the only light coming from a dim lamp in the corner. A knee leaning against the bed, she had her littlest fingers pressed to the corners of her eyes, cool skin against their wetness. It was no distinct time, no distinct day, but a feeling of significance had crept into her and now she was standing in the middle of her room, aching with what she wanted and what she was scared to want. The darkness blurred on the edges of her vision.
Black and white: she could not live her life in shades of gray. Like charcoal on silk; like oil on snow; things were the way they were, and wanting didn’t change anything. Ambiguity was overrated. It was the fear of the unknown that propelled them all forward, but it was knowing there was right and wrong that kept her grounded. She couldn’t afford to smudge the realities of what was, and what was not. It had cost her too much, before.
It wasn’t that she was lonely. She was surrounded by people: some cared and some didn’t, but it wasn’t the lack thereof that plagued her. The pain was within, not without. She laughed incredulously - or was it a sigh? - against her palms, a puff of warm air. How melodramatic. How true. She was surrounded, but no one could touch her, and it was saturating her entire body with an ache that was so deep she knew she’d never reach it.
And when House had held her earlier, unexpectedly, because he wasn’t tender even when he cared, she had felt that ache rise, clogging her throat; she couldn’t breathe, her skin was tingling. “Cuddy,” he said, and she had lifted her sore eyes to his, slowly, her eyelashes heavy. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, but his eyes were cool. Calm. She anchored onto them, wishing so hard that maybe, just maybe, that blue, that stillness, could seep in a little. Seep in and fill those spaces, that gray, decaying area that she couldn’t bear to acknowledge because it didn’t fit, it didn’t fit. Gray was not the plan, but blue wasn’t either, and if it didn’t fill the hollows, if it couldn’t close that space, she wasn’t sure anything could.
“I can’t,” she said, intending to continue with do this, but all that came out was a replicate: “I can’t, I can’t…” His eyes seemed to know.
“I can’t,” she repeated, and kissed him.
It wasn’t going to help any, but at least for then, at least for that moment, the ache had subsided and his hands had been warm against her skin. She hadn’t realized she’d been freezing.
But then, House was always the one to make you notice the things you’d always missed before.
She stood in her bedroom, the only light coming from a dim lamp in the corner. A knee leaning against the bed, she had her littlest fingers pressed to the corners of her eyes, cool skin against their wetness. It was no distinct time, no distinct day, but a feeling of significance had crept into her and now she was standing in the middle of her room, aching with what she wanted and what she was scared to want. The darkness blurred on the edges of her vision.
Black and white: she could not live her life in shades of gray. Like charcoal on silk; like oil on snow; things were the way they were, and wanting didn’t change anything. Ambiguity was overrated. It was the fear of the unknown that propelled them all forward, but it was knowing there was right and wrong that kept her grounded. She couldn’t afford to smudge the realities of what was, and what was not. It had cost her too much, before.
It wasn’t that she was lonely. She was surrounded by people: some cared and some didn’t, but it wasn’t the lack thereof that plagued her. The pain was within, not without. She laughed incredulously - or was it a sigh? - against her palms, a puff of warm air. How melodramatic. How true. She was surrounded, but no one could touch her, and it was saturating her entire body with an ache that was so deep she knew she’d never reach it.
And when House had held her earlier, unexpectedly, because he wasn’t tender even when he cared, she had felt that ache rise, clogging her throat; she couldn’t breathe, her skin was tingling. “Cuddy,” he said, and she had lifted her sore eyes to his, slowly, her eyelashes heavy. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, but his eyes were cool. Calm. She anchored onto them, wishing so hard that maybe, just maybe, that blue, that stillness, could seep in a little. Seep in and fill those spaces, that gray, decaying area that she couldn’t bear to acknowledge because it didn’t fit, it didn’t fit. Gray was not the plan, but blue wasn’t either, and if it didn’t fill the hollows, if it couldn’t close that space, she wasn’t sure anything could.
“I can’t,” she said, intending to continue with do this, but all that came out was a replicate: “I can’t, I can’t…” His eyes seemed to know.
“I can’t,” she repeated, and kissed him.
It wasn’t going to help any, but at least for then, at least for that moment, the ache had subsided and his hands had been warm against her skin. She hadn’t realized she’d been freezing.
But then, House was always the one to make you notice the things you’d always missed before.