House: You don't want to know how it feels inside
What she wants to say, is that she wants to remember what it was like at the beginning. When Tuesdays were something she looked forward to, and not when it became just another day. But at the last fleeting moment of realization, she mimics the smile and lets him go, almost afraid that he’s been right all along.
“Go brush your hair.”
He raises an eyebrow and she can tell he’s fighting to stand on the same ground on her, but he’s already far gone.
[It works. So, if it isn’t broken….]
There’s something inside of her, that’s always wanted to be alone. She’s fought it, embraced, forgotten it, but it surfaces when she sits opposite Wilson in his office with lunch on his desk. Like charges are supposed to repel, but here she is, drawn more to him than her own boyfriend, more to someone else she can’t name above either of them.
“I’m thinking,” she picks at her salad and doesn’t look up, “I should end things with Chase.”
He puts down his own fork and stares at his companion before placing his hand on top of hers. She looks up, an action he’d counted on.
“What’s wrong?”
And that’s the thing. Nothing.
[It aches. Not much, just a little.]
They run past her, a hurried image of white coats and pale faces. She tries to stop herself, but she can’t. She turns around to watch their rushed feet round a corner. Sometimes, she can believe she’s still there, still his fellow. It wasn’t that long ago when she was the one who had to cross the ocean for her patient’s life.
But now they’ve taken her spot, and most times, she’s grateful. Pulling the few charts in her hand closer to her body, she turns forward with a shake of her head. Being replaceable never did sit well with her, but she has to make do now.
[It hurts. Though it shouldn’t]
She doesn’t know when it started, or who started it, but she overhears it on a Wednesday from two nurses in the break room. They kissed. House and Cuddy. It isn’t her fault her pen shakes slightly at the news, just nerves begin jittery from her third cup of coffee.
The day passes and she catches him with his cane centered between his feet while she crosses her hands over the breasts he loves to poke fun of. She shouldn’t care, and in fact, a good portion of her doesn’t. But a small slice is smarting with memories of monster trucks and vicodin withdrawal, goodbyes and even hellos. Who knew it’d been Cuddy all along?
[It burns. The hotter the better.]
The breathing is on her neck, light and hot in the cool air of the ER. She opens her eyes abruptly to find him peering over her shoulder. How her feet stay folded over the bed she doesn’t know, but she narrows her eyes in irritation as she pulls away from him and straightens in the chair she’s half sitting in.
“Good to see you’re earning our fine tax dollars sleeping.”
“What are you doing down here, House?”
“Geez, bitchy when you’re woken from a hot dream with your sweaty Aussie boy?”
Her dreams have nothing to do with Chase anymore. Not that he has any right to know.
“Is there any particular reason you’re interrupting my lunch break?”
He moves from behind her to sit on the bed her feet are still enjoying. She ignores the smell of him, the familiar scent she can feel searing the neurons in her brain connecting memories with smell.
[It breaks. Long overdue.]
She catches them on a long shift leading her into the wee hours of a damn Monday. With a cup of coffee in her hand, she passes his office to see the two of them standing beside each other looking at an MRI scan.
Her hand is lightly on his waist with the other pointing out some sort of anomaly she can’t see from beyond the glass walls.
It’s time to stop lying to herself. She never thought her chance was gone. Then again, she never let herself think about the chance at all. But now it’s here, and it’s telling her she still has feelings for him.
Convoluted feelings, but feelings nonetheless. Of course, it’s useless now. She throws her Styrofoam cup into the trash without a second glance.
[It ends. Because all things do.]
She lays down the newspaper in front of him the next morning, a full two weeks after his offer was met with her resistance. He looks at it before picking it up and noticing the red circle she’s drawn over three entries in the classifieds.
“I like the second one,” she says as she refills her cup and turns back to him.
There are things she can never have, and she’s known that for so long. She can either accept it, live with it, and try to pretend it doesn’t hurt, or she can give up whatever normal life she has and be miserable.
Time has changed her. She’ll take what she can get, what she allows herself, and be as close to happy as possible.
“Go brush your hair.”
He raises an eyebrow and she can tell he’s fighting to stand on the same ground on her, but he’s already far gone.
[It works. So, if it isn’t broken….]
There’s something inside of her, that’s always wanted to be alone. She’s fought it, embraced, forgotten it, but it surfaces when she sits opposite Wilson in his office with lunch on his desk. Like charges are supposed to repel, but here she is, drawn more to him than her own boyfriend, more to someone else she can’t name above either of them.
“I’m thinking,” she picks at her salad and doesn’t look up, “I should end things with Chase.”
He puts down his own fork and stares at his companion before placing his hand on top of hers. She looks up, an action he’d counted on.
“What’s wrong?”
And that’s the thing. Nothing.
[It aches. Not much, just a little.]
They run past her, a hurried image of white coats and pale faces. She tries to stop herself, but she can’t. She turns around to watch their rushed feet round a corner. Sometimes, she can believe she’s still there, still his fellow. It wasn’t that long ago when she was the one who had to cross the ocean for her patient’s life.
But now they’ve taken her spot, and most times, she’s grateful. Pulling the few charts in her hand closer to her body, she turns forward with a shake of her head. Being replaceable never did sit well with her, but she has to make do now.
[It hurts. Though it shouldn’t]
She doesn’t know when it started, or who started it, but she overhears it on a Wednesday from two nurses in the break room. They kissed. House and Cuddy. It isn’t her fault her pen shakes slightly at the news, just nerves begin jittery from her third cup of coffee.
The day passes and she catches him with his cane centered between his feet while she crosses her hands over the breasts he loves to poke fun of. She shouldn’t care, and in fact, a good portion of her doesn’t. But a small slice is smarting with memories of monster trucks and vicodin withdrawal, goodbyes and even hellos. Who knew it’d been Cuddy all along?
[It burns. The hotter the better.]
The breathing is on her neck, light and hot in the cool air of the ER. She opens her eyes abruptly to find him peering over her shoulder. How her feet stay folded over the bed she doesn’t know, but she narrows her eyes in irritation as she pulls away from him and straightens in the chair she’s half sitting in.
“Good to see you’re earning our fine tax dollars sleeping.”
“What are you doing down here, House?”
“Geez, bitchy when you’re woken from a hot dream with your sweaty Aussie boy?”
Her dreams have nothing to do with Chase anymore. Not that he has any right to know.
“Is there any particular reason you’re interrupting my lunch break?”
He moves from behind her to sit on the bed her feet are still enjoying. She ignores the smell of him, the familiar scent she can feel searing the neurons in her brain connecting memories with smell.
[It breaks. Long overdue.]
She catches them on a long shift leading her into the wee hours of a damn Monday. With a cup of coffee in her hand, she passes his office to see the two of them standing beside each other looking at an MRI scan.
Her hand is lightly on his waist with the other pointing out some sort of anomaly she can’t see from beyond the glass walls.
It’s time to stop lying to herself. She never thought her chance was gone. Then again, she never let herself think about the chance at all. But now it’s here, and it’s telling her she still has feelings for him.
Convoluted feelings, but feelings nonetheless. Of course, it’s useless now. She throws her Styrofoam cup into the trash without a second glance.
[It ends. Because all things do.]
She lays down the newspaper in front of him the next morning, a full two weeks after his offer was met with her resistance. He looks at it before picking it up and noticing the red circle she’s drawn over three entries in the classifieds.
“I like the second one,” she says as she refills her cup and turns back to him.
There are things she can never have, and she’s known that for so long. She can either accept it, live with it, and try to pretend it doesn’t hurt, or she can give up whatever normal life she has and be miserable.
Time has changed her. She’ll take what she can get, what she allows herself, and be as close to happy as possible.