[HOUSE] The Myth of Us
The Myth of Us
Cameron/House, PG, 780 words,
She’s gotten good at waiting.
TICK
She has spent too much time waiting.
Waiting for her husband to die, to see if she landed the job which she so desperately wanted, wishing for House to notice and yearn for her; waiting for the feelings she has for him to dissipate.
Though she’s heard all the words before; naïve, caring, pathetic Allison; damaged beyond repair; they still manage to bring a sharp stab of pain when he layers them over her. She has started to watch the time click past her in a stop gap motion and she knows she will only endure more of the same.
Allison wonders if she will always be defined by others based on her feelings. She misunderstood Foreman and their relationship, slept with Chase when she couldn’t feel anything, and still waits for House to meet her halfway.
She’s gotten good at waiting.
TOCK
The pain is always there, ensnaring you in its captive grip.
You know she’s there, waiting for something and you want to tell her to go away. She insists on tugging at you, pulling for you and it only annoys more. You want to yell at her, to scream in frustration and anger, force her to make the pain stop.
You internalize the screams, why bother is the rationalization. There isn’t enough of an echo for her to hear you. Why bother, you have always dealt with the pain before, she won’t change that for you. Do you even want her to? You laugh at the romantic notion but can’t help but wonder if the pain has become so all consuming in your life, that without it, you’ve lost what defines it.
You’ve never been good at dealing with pain.
TICK
“Breathe,” she insists. “Damn you, I need you to keep breathing.”
She places her hand on the side of his face and the palm of her other hand flat against his chest. In the back of her mind it is briefly noted that this is the closest that she has ever come to him, the most she has ever physically touched and she notes the thought. It’s quickly forced to the back of her mind as the doctor in her pushes forward. She notes the unsteady rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm; he was breathing but barely.
She retreats once again to the side of his bed, wondering at the strange turn of events that brought them here. Recovery would take awhile, but she knew things would change, they would have to. Maybe she needed this change more than he did.
Why did it suddenly seem so hard to breathe?
TOCK
You remember how it started, the whisper of her hair tracing a path along your torso; the cadence of her sighs as she slept. You would never tell her, couldn’t tell her, that you listened to the sound of her breathing while she slept; lulled by the false sense of security she covered you with.
Maybe tomorrow. You’ll tell her everything tomorrow and the emptiness will be just that much less so. Tomorrow sounds so good, so hopeful and you wonder if she could ever forgive you because you know there is no tomorrow. Not for you. Not for her.
And you still wonder what it was that made you fall.
original post
Cameron/House, PG, 780 words,
She’s gotten good at waiting.
TICK
She has spent too much time waiting.
Waiting for her husband to die, to see if she landed the job which she so desperately wanted, wishing for House to notice and yearn for her; waiting for the feelings she has for him to dissipate.
Though she’s heard all the words before; naïve, caring, pathetic Allison; damaged beyond repair; they still manage to bring a sharp stab of pain when he layers them over her. She has started to watch the time click past her in a stop gap motion and she knows she will only endure more of the same.
Allison wonders if she will always be defined by others based on her feelings. She misunderstood Foreman and their relationship, slept with Chase when she couldn’t feel anything, and still waits for House to meet her halfway.
She’s gotten good at waiting.
TOCK
The pain is always there, ensnaring you in its captive grip.
You know she’s there, waiting for something and you want to tell her to go away. She insists on tugging at you, pulling for you and it only annoys more. You want to yell at her, to scream in frustration and anger, force her to make the pain stop.
You internalize the screams, why bother is the rationalization. There isn’t enough of an echo for her to hear you. Why bother, you have always dealt with the pain before, she won’t change that for you. Do you even want her to? You laugh at the romantic notion but can’t help but wonder if the pain has become so all consuming in your life, that without it, you’ve lost what defines it.
You’ve never been good at dealing with pain.
TICK
“Breathe,” she insists. “Damn you, I need you to keep breathing.”
She places her hand on the side of his face and the palm of her other hand flat against his chest. In the back of her mind it is briefly noted that this is the closest that she has ever come to him, the most she has ever physically touched and she notes the thought. It’s quickly forced to the back of her mind as the doctor in her pushes forward. She notes the unsteady rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm; he was breathing but barely.
She retreats once again to the side of his bed, wondering at the strange turn of events that brought them here. Recovery would take awhile, but she knew things would change, they would have to. Maybe she needed this change more than he did.
Why did it suddenly seem so hard to breathe?
TOCK
You remember how it started, the whisper of her hair tracing a path along your torso; the cadence of her sighs as she slept. You would never tell her, couldn’t tell her, that you listened to the sound of her breathing while she slept; lulled by the false sense of security she covered you with.
Maybe tomorrow. You’ll tell her everything tomorrow and the emptiness will be just that much less so. Tomorrow sounds so good, so hopeful and you wonder if she could ever forgive you because you know there is no tomorrow. Not for you. Not for her.
And you still wonder what it was that made you fall.
original post