Three days after
House was playing the Pianoforte when someone knocked on his door.
“Go away!” He shouted. It was a lonely afternoon, his only mate was his piano, and he didn’t need any other kind of company. In fact he had been absent from work these three days. But he headed to the door and open it to discover Wilson standing there.
“House, te missed Cuddy’s funeral.” He heard Wilson replying.
“Go away. I don’t need te to scold me.” He detto closing the door but Wilson held the door back.
He had to admit that House looked like crap. His beard had grown, his eyes were red caused da the insomnia and his breath was filled da alcohol. What shocked Wilson the most was that House was still wearing the same clothes he had used that cold Friday night.
“House, I know what you’re going through I Lost Amber. Maybe if we talked it might help.” Wilson asked entering House’s apartment without his permission.
“Not even God can help, nothing will bring her back. Get out.” He pointed the door with his cane.
“I’m not going anywhere until te tell me, why are te doing this? te haven’t gone to work, te haven’t taken a shower. te haven’t even changed your clothes. te have to let go.”
House didn’t move. That was why he didn’t want Wilson to come because he will say all that crap about him.
“I’m telling te for the last time. GET OUT.” House shouted. His words were amaro and cold. His eyes were stones, they weren’t alive anymore.
Wilson gave him a last glance and walked out the door.
House waited to hear Wilson’s car engine to sposta away from the door. He went over to the Pianoforte again. But this time he didn’t pressed a key, he was numb thinking about her.
Her smile, her madness, her tears, and those stone cold lips he kissed last. Everything was so painful. He drowned another glass of scotch.
He hadn’t read the note, it will make him feel even guiltier. He got it out of his pocket and let it on superiore, in alto of the piano. He stared at it. His hand reached for it and his eyes started reading.
The letter had changed it was wet now as his eyes.
To be continued as te see I don't write giantic fics.
House was playing the Pianoforte when someone knocked on his door.
“Go away!” He shouted. It was a lonely afternoon, his only mate was his piano, and he didn’t need any other kind of company. In fact he had been absent from work these three days. But he headed to the door and open it to discover Wilson standing there.
“House, te missed Cuddy’s funeral.” He heard Wilson replying.
“Go away. I don’t need te to scold me.” He detto closing the door but Wilson held the door back.
He had to admit that House looked like crap. His beard had grown, his eyes were red caused da the insomnia and his breath was filled da alcohol. What shocked Wilson the most was that House was still wearing the same clothes he had used that cold Friday night.
“House, I know what you’re going through I Lost Amber. Maybe if we talked it might help.” Wilson asked entering House’s apartment without his permission.
“Not even God can help, nothing will bring her back. Get out.” He pointed the door with his cane.
“I’m not going anywhere until te tell me, why are te doing this? te haven’t gone to work, te haven’t taken a shower. te haven’t even changed your clothes. te have to let go.”
House didn’t move. That was why he didn’t want Wilson to come because he will say all that crap about him.
“I’m telling te for the last time. GET OUT.” House shouted. His words were amaro and cold. His eyes were stones, they weren’t alive anymore.
Wilson gave him a last glance and walked out the door.
House waited to hear Wilson’s car engine to sposta away from the door. He went over to the Pianoforte again. But this time he didn’t pressed a key, he was numb thinking about her.
Her smile, her madness, her tears, and those stone cold lips he kissed last. Everything was so painful. He drowned another glass of scotch.
He hadn’t read the note, it will make him feel even guiltier. He got it out of his pocket and let it on superiore, in alto of the piano. He stared at it. His hand reached for it and his eyes started reading.
The letter had changed it was wet now as his eyes.
To be continued as te see I don't write giantic fics.
