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"I thought you were too screwed up to love anyone…I was wrong. You just couldn't love me."
Cameron's eyes glinted uncomfortably, but House held her gaze. She was the first to look away.
And indeed, she was wrong.
He loved, but simply was too messed up to be loved back.
A sad truth. He knew it, felt it deep down.
First, Stacy left. Soon, he would leave her, but only to avoid the inevitable. Then, he'd be able to fool himself into believing that they had a chance, that it was only he who ruined it.
All that was left was sex—no grand declarations of love, no morning cuddles, no binge-watching medical shows together late into the night.
And sometimes, he wished for something like that. After all, he was human; he craved that kind of love, not just emotionless sex with a prostitute. He had part of it—he had Wilson. But only in this strange sense of friendship. Too bad. Of all people, only with him could he have had that something, something special, that might’ve pulled him out of the stupor, stopped his descent from some great height. Sometimes, he felt like a log falling off Mount Everest.
(ah, how he liked such melodramatic metaphors)
But even Wilson wouldn’t be able to put up with him for long. He couldn’t, wouldn’t.
It was just the way things were.
Sometimes, he liked the abyss of hopelessness, the Mariana Trench he was in—sometimes he didn’t.
But that was the way things were. People don’t change, life doesn’t change. At least he didn’t fool himself into thinking it did, like everyone else.
Maybe that’s why he was so unhappy