Work Text:
Read em' and Weep
by M.S. Scully
Part One
His eyes hurt, his chest hurt, his skin burned, his ears rang in pain. Hell even his fingernails bothered him. House sat in the middle of his living room, three syringes full of ever loving morphine laid out in front of him. He couldn't believe that it had come to this. A few days ago he was his usually grumpy self, now he had slammed into rock bottom with no other place to go. He tried to scream but his body protested against any small movement.
He had called Wilson five times and, surprise, surprise, he didn't answer. He either wasn't home or he was avoiding House. He chose the latter and left messages pleading his case. He had never apologized in his life but now he was starting to use the word `sorry' like he would use the word `is'.
His three little minions were off on some case and had even called a couple of times. The last call he ended up screaming at Cameron that it was her damn job and that she could figure it out without him. House stopped caring about a lot of things in the past three days; his job, his home, his piano, eating and sleeping also got knocked off the list of `things House needed in life'. Nothing mattered anymore. Except getting up the next day and.... Wilson. Wilson had invaded House's pain filled head more than he even realized. He wanted to patch things up with him. He wanted to tell him that he had done what he had asked, sort of. But Wilson, for the first time in House's memory, was unreachable.
Tritter had done a lot of damage in the past three days. House had gone to the guy, ready to cut a deal, but Tritter had other ideas. He got House suspended from his job and got a court order telling any doctors at the hospital they were not allowed to give out vicodin. House told the guy what he could, anything that would stop the guy, but all he got was a night in jail. He would've applauded Tritter, if he weren't in so much pain.
He managed to get a hold of some morphine and tried to hold off as long as possible, but in the end the pain won out and House lost. He laid his head against the cool floor and took one syringe in hand and quickly injected himself. Then he took up the other two and repeated. He knew that one of the syringes would've put him to sleep but he just didn't want to feel, anything. The drugs and alcohol would rock through his system and likely kill him. But he no longer had the one thing he needed to survive, so what was the point?
Immediately his eyes started to glaze over and he could feel his body go into shock. All the while he let his mind drift to the one thing that had kept him alive all these years.... Wilson...
End Part one:
(sorry this is so short and lack of dialogue. I've been trying out different techniques of writing in my Creative writing class. I also took some liberties with the morphine. I only remember so much from my experience with the stuff and even that is a bit... hazy. Anyway, tell me what you think and I fully plan to have the next chapter out by next Tuesday, maybe.)