It's dead short, but i suddenly got inspired to write something, and this was what i came up with...
Everyone thought that their arguments had a little extra fuel to the fire, but no-one (not even Wilson) knew just how far that moto had burned au for how long.
Behind their eyes, their secrets were hidden, tucked away down deep, not seeing the sunlight until they were thrust roughly into the light kwa another scathing remark, another blasé insult.
It was when they were angry that they were most vulnerable, most likely to slip up and let out a little too much. Their secrets forced nearer to the surface kwa the raw energy that consumed them, threatening to burst free and flow into the others’ eyes.
Neither one acknowledged their existence, both too caught up in the anger, the rage, the injustice; both trying to get the last word in, each trying to out-do the other.
They lived for it, both of them, although it was something they wouldn’t admit to. It was exciting and secretly thrilling, the yelling and shouting a substitute for something neither of them wished to dwell on. It was better to be mad, to get a rise out of the other, to poke and prod and annoy, getting under their skin, than to dwell on the past; to think of what could have been. No ‘what if’s, no ‘should I have’s, just shouting and anger; exasperation and a hidden flush of pleasure. It was better than being miserable, better than being stuck in what could have been. Feeling anything was better than feeling nothing at all.
The hospital was rife with gossip and rumours about them. Everyone wanted to know the real reason behind House and Cuddy’s constant battling, but the only two people who knew were nevr going to share, it cut too close to their hearts.
Everyone thought that their arguments had a little extra fuel to the fire, but no-one (not even Wilson) knew just how far that moto had burned au for how long.
Behind their eyes, their secrets were hidden, tucked away down deep, not seeing the sunlight until they were thrust roughly into the light kwa another scathing remark, another blasé insult.
It was when they were angry that they were most vulnerable, most likely to slip up and let out a little too much. Their secrets forced nearer to the surface kwa the raw energy that consumed them, threatening to burst free and flow into the others’ eyes.
Neither one acknowledged their existence, both too caught up in the anger, the rage, the injustice; both trying to get the last word in, each trying to out-do the other.
They lived for it, both of them, although it was something they wouldn’t admit to. It was exciting and secretly thrilling, the yelling and shouting a substitute for something neither of them wished to dwell on. It was better to be mad, to get a rise out of the other, to poke and prod and annoy, getting under their skin, than to dwell on the past; to think of what could have been. No ‘what if’s, no ‘should I have’s, just shouting and anger; exasperation and a hidden flush of pleasure. It was better than being miserable, better than being stuck in what could have been. Feeling anything was better than feeling nothing at all.
The hospital was rife with gossip and rumours about them. Everyone wanted to know the real reason behind House and Cuddy’s constant battling, but the only two people who knew were nevr going to share, it cut too close to their hearts.
