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Shuffle
by michelleann68
I stay still and listen as our breathing slows down. Skin cools as I lay and watch the moonlight move slowly across the bed. Shallow breathing tells me he has fallen asleep. I pull myself in tighter, not wanting to move, clean up or make the dreaded phone call. I stick my head into the crook of his neck and take one last deep breath; filling my lungs with his essence. I gently move his arm and sit up. As much as I am dreading this, I cannot hide from life anymore. Now is the time to face the mess, I have created.
I pull my body away from his warmth and get a washcloth to wash away the remnants of the night. I amble, naked, back to the bathroom. Rinsing out the washcloth I look at myself in the mirror. Really, look at myself. My skin has some color in it, but my eyes look worn out. I run my hand up my arm to prove to myself what I am looking at is real, and not just some weird disjointed dream. I trace the bite mark on my shoulder, a little disappointed that it has started to fade, and will likely be gone by tomorrow night. Not that Julie would notice, I doubt she has even really looked at me in months.
I feel a wave of nausea sweep over me and I force my self to sit on the toilet putting my head between my knees I take a moment to gather my self. I feel eviscerated. How did I end up naked in my best friend's, my only friend's bathroom, near tears and shaking. Fuck, I really hate life sometimes. The emotions I have been holding back take over and the dam breaks. I have once again fucked up my life. I stop, and think back, swimming in happier thoughts. I remember Greg's hand gliding over my body and pulling me on him, stroking me and gently caressing me. The memory comforts me and I start to gain back some emotional footing. I have no idea, okay I do know, how I ended up in this mess. Nevertheless, the bigger question is, what am I going to do to make things right? Inhale. Exhale.
I wash my face and take a last look. Now I have to do something that I dread. The fact that I am dreading it should be my first indication that things are not right in my life. A shiver snakes its way down my spine and I feel naked... well okay... I AM naked, but I feel stripped of the protection I felt lying in bed with Greg. Reaching behind the door, I slip on his bathrobe. The smell is different, soapier less musky. It feels nice against my skin. Walking out into the bedroom the blue light is warmer now and has moved up the bed. I make my way over to his relaxed body. He is in a deep sleep. His breathing is slow and steady; I listen to it and enjoy the calm it induces. Pulling up the sheet and blanket, I tuck him in and protect him from the cooling air. I bend over and kiss him lightly on the forehead. I want to just crawl in next to him, bury my head under a pillow, and hide. Ah, but I am responsible if nothing else, always doing what is expected of me; the good boy. I brush his hair away from his temple and his head turns slightly into my touch as I run my thumb down his cheek. I don't want to do the next step I know it is the painful thing, but the right thing. I will be back, here, where I am safe, loved and I can fall without fear if necessary. I walk out to the living room, my legs guide me and I dig around in my bag and pull out my cell.
It is 11:18, Julie will still be up, so I press the number I have committed to memory but have never put in my speed dial. She answers on the third ring. I can see her scowl even before the words come out of her mouth. The element of surprise is gone with caller ID.
"Hi Julie," I steady my voice, and it comes out as a whisper. Just silence so heavy that it weighs on my shoulders. I pick up the conversation. "I'm going to stay here," I add to the end, " Where I am needed." The silence drags on. I am sure she is picking apart my simple statement and reading all sorts of things into it. Part of me wants to just scream at her, and I feel my pulse start to race. That is not how Dr. James Wilson behaves.
Now, my mind is made up, I know what I have to do, for my own good. My train of thought is interrupted, "Will you be home tomorrow?" she hisses out, just trying to feel out how deep my perceived betrayal is.
"I'll try," is the best I can really say to her. I am not sure what I am going to do tomorrow, I am just sure of where I am going to sleep tonight. "I'll check in if anything changes", I add hastily.
"Fine", and the line is dead.
I try to justify to myself, I did not lie to her. I just did not tell her what a husband should tell their wife. I just deceived her like I have deceived my self for 20 years, maybe even my entire life to some extent. I turn the phone to vibrate, stick it back in to my bag, and walk back to the one place where I will feel safe tonight.
Greg is on his back his arm flung over his face, fast asleep. Shedding the robe, I ease the blanket and sheet back and crawl in. Draping my arm across his chest and nestling my head into his shoulder I find a comfortable position and try to put out of my head the myriad of decisions I have to make. Blocking them out and shoving them back so my sub conscious can deal with them tonight, I focus my attention on his heart beat drumming against my ear. I focus on the uniquely human sound, and slowly sleep envelops me, worries eased, fears subside for at least a few hours. His arm moves up to my back holding me in place.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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