“We’re not friends and I don’t think I have anything to apologize for.”
The same humiliation she’d felt after House’s “I’m what you need. I’m damaged.”
She reached out to slap Foreman’s face. He grabbed her easily and pulled her down into his lap.
House had been right all along.
His dark hands moving inside her blouse, drawing an unwilling gasp.
They ended up on the table. The whiteboard told no tales.
“You can’t have House, so who’s next, Wilson?” He grunted, thrusting, making his victory complete.
“Bastard!” Tears. Anger. Release.
“We’re still not friends.”
House smiled in his sleep.