She is proud of herself.

It's been three months since she's seen him, three months since she last felt the flash of blue eyes on her face. Three months have passed and she is healing.

One week and her resolve crumpled. She had called him at his house. It was still early in the day, she reasoned. Maybe he would still be at work and she could leave a message.

"Hi, this is Cameron. I know we've had our differences, but I figure now's as good as time as any to meet for coffee. How about Sandrine's at eight?"

She had hung up when she heard his voice.

He knew, the sly bastard, and she knew. And he knew that she knew that he knew. And that's why she never called him again.

Two weeks and her mood is starting to improve. She can look in the mirror without feeling disgusted with herself. This is good. This is change.

At night, though, when the moonlight is her only witness, she empties her eyes into her pillow for want of...what? How can she want something she never had?

Three weeks and she decides more change is in order. She gets a new job in the Emergency Wing. She sees Chase for pleasure, but not for sex. She begins to understand a difference between the two.

She also sees the threads of influence he had looped around her starting to slacken. She finds she likes feeling free. She reads.

A month passes and she has forgotten the phone number she had half-dialed almost every night of the last year. The familiar, curving digits that seemed to her such an ironic companion to a stark, angular man slipped into the recesses of her mind, right next to a clear image of his face.

She dreams of him still, but doesn't admit it. Admission would lead to regret and regret would lead to either House's ego or Chase's bed, two places she had vowed never to be again.

Two months have passed and she has met Matthew, a charming artist with a penchant for painting her nude, though he draws mostly from imagination. They met over coffee and for the next two weeks, Cameron basked in the flattery, the quick sketches, the shy, but roving eyes of a man whose vision of her was tainted by infatuation. She would never have to hear the truth from him if she so wished it.

Three months. She celebrates with wine and Matthew. They dine late, he leaves early. She spends a few minutes cleaning his presence out of her kitchen, pausing to admire the sketch of herself on a napkin, the margin of a newspaper. She is proud of herself. She has almost forgotten him. All but the blue. The blue will haunt her forever.

The door sounds, a heavy, hollow tap. Twice, then again. Hesitant. She thinks it is Matthew retrieving a forgotten item and opens the door.

That is when she sees him for the first time in three months. She has vowed to forget him, to erase him from her mind.

But when she opens the door, all she sees is blue.

Reviews are always lovely!