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Apology

By Kei Angelus

Other / Drama

Apology

Disclaimer : House, M.D. belongs to David Shore and FOX.

"And I don't want him to hate me."

That was all the point. The point I wanted to show there. Because I wasn't sure if I could ever deal with that. It was actually not about the pain, or the misery. But the reason of all that when I came back.

He would hate me.

Wilson would hate me.

My earlier words echoed in my head. And it was true when I said that he was my best friend.

When I had said that he thought I should've risked my live to save Amber, a part of me had wished that he just hadn't realized it. I had wished that he hadn't wanted me to take the risk, or he had been just too messed up and forgotten the danger of jolting my brain.

But when I had seen his eyes. I had known that I just had had to do it. and all along, I had known that I would have done it for him anyway. And when the electricity had succeeded to bring me back my memory, all I could have seen was his face, grasping the reality. And I could feel the wetness streaming down my face without my permission. It had taken much more seconds for me to realize how. It was because my body had told me the truth, even before my brain had successfully processed the thing I would have felt after this. Because when the signal finally reached my brain, I realized that all that I could have cared of is that I might have lost my best friend. That I hadn't wanted to lose him.

"Well, you can't always get what you want," the girl I should have saved said. And she was right. And it sucked.

It sucked that no matter what I say, I still had to go back. I had to get off the bus which would take us to heaven. Or hell. Or nirvana. Or whatever you believe we would go when we died. I still had to accept the fact that Wilson was going to hate me. And even the idea of it made my chest hurt.

As soon as I stepped outside the bus, I realized that I was in a familiar hospital room, on a familiar hospital bed.

"Hey. I'm here," said a voice.

But that wasn't the voice I wanted to hear. Cuddy told me to blink if I could hear her and of course I could. I wasn't deaf.

Wilson.

Where is Wilson?

I tried to speak but Cuddy stopped me before I said the first syllable. "No. Don't try to talk. Just rest," she told me.

As much as I wanted to stay awake, I instantly went unconscious. And I knew it wasn't for a long time when I opened my eyes again.

After two seconds, I realized that someone was standing in front of the door. And my chest hurt when I saw his face. He couldn't hide it from me.

I knew he must have been crying. I had seen that face only when he had lost his mom. Pure grief.

And after three seconds, he looked away from me to turn around.

Wait.

He took the first step as I forced myself to speak. I could only let a whisper that fortunately could be heard by him

"Wilson."

No respond.

But when he was one step outside the door, he stopped. He turned around and went back in. He looked at me with the same eyes, but with abit of… relief?

He then took some steps closer, and closer, until he was next to me, but quiet enough that we wouldn't wake Cuddy up.

And after a second or so, he couldn't hold it anymore. He covered his eyes with his right hand as his left was on his hips.

"Wilson," I whispered again. But suddenly his arms was hugging my weak body. He was trying to stop his silent sobs but he couldn't. I was thinking that he would say how sad he was, how Amber really meant something to him, that I had been wrong about her. But when he finally said something, he said, "I thought I would lose you, too."

What?

You don't resent me?

Wasn't it me who screwed up? You wouldn't have lost her if I hadn't called you. I should've taken the bus on my own. I should've stopped her from getting in the bus.

And here you are relieved because I am alive?

That was when I realized that I hadn't said any word. He hadn't even turned around and went back in. I hadn't even managed to call his name. The only thing that I could have done was to stare at his leaving, wishing that he would have stayed. I stayed awake just to had one after another scenario about how Wilson wouldn't have left this room. And this fear of losing him made my brain worked extra hard to make me stay awake. I just kept getting back to the same scenario where he wouldn't talk to me anymore, until I passed out again.

It must have been the medication and the fracture. But the last thing I remembered before I passed out was that I managed to let a whisper that only him—in my head, could have heard.

"I'm sorry, Wilson."

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