Greg and I have been wallowing in our collective misery for a while now, me from a third divorce, him from the depression that hits every few months or so. I'm feeling ready to move on, but Greg is still pissed off at the world, and for now is content to sit and stare at the walls every night.
His depressive episodes, like this one, can last for weeks. The one time he tried Prozac it made him so loopy that he declared all antidepressants evil, flushed his pills down the toilet, and vowed to never touch them again. After that I was more or less appointed to keep an eye on Greg whenever his moods turn dark, which usually involves trying to convince him to get some sleep and hiding his keys whenever he drinks too much.
You might ask yourself why I'm willing to put up with someone like Dr. Gregory House. The answer is simple–He's my friend and I care about him, and I know he cares about me. Sadly, he doesn't have a clue as to how much I really care about him. I'm hoping to change all that.
We've known about each other's inclinations to bat for both teams for many years now. It's fair to say that my bisexuality is one of the many reasons why I'm thrice divorced. Call me a lout, but hey, I'm not perfect and never pretended to be. Greg has always preferred to keep that bit of information to himself as much as possible. Even Stacy didn't know. Mind you, it isn't out of shame or guilt, it's just he prefers women over men.
Like I said, I'm hoping to change all that. Right now I'm just waiting for the right moment.
We were watching Kill Bill Vol. 1 at 9pm on a Friday night, and frankly neither of us had anything better to do. I could have begged off and gone to bed early but I didn't feel like staring at the walls of the Greg's spare bedroom where I have been living for the past three months. Greg took over the sofa while I was curled up in the recliner, which I hate. Since my friend was kind enough to take me in after all my divorces and given his mood lately, I kept my mouth shut. I had slept in my office for three days after my wife threw me out and I didn't want to sleep there again.
Greg's current depression appeared to be lifting. He drank only two glasses of brandy, the third was untouched on the table next to his bottle of Vicodin. He smiled and chuckled a few times at the television. And he was calling me 'Jimmy' again instead of 'Wilson', which is what he does whenever he's in a pissy mood.
After a while I noticed it was oddly quiet, the only sounds from the television. I looked over at the sofa and saw why. Greg had fallen asleep. To be sure, I grabbed the remote and hit the mute button. He didn't snap up and yell at me to turn the fucking sound back on, so he was out cold. Given that Gregory House is the most notorious insomniac and light sleeper in the state of New Jersey, he must have really been tired.
I turned off the television. The room was still except for the sound of his steady breathing. The doctor was on his back, head tilted towards the television, one arm hanging to the floor while the other was draped across his chest. For the first time in ages he looked content and relaxed.
I quietly got up and settled on the end of the sofa by his feet. Carefully, I undid the laces of one sneaker and pulled it off. I was starting on the other one when I looked up and saw Greg's bright blue eyes staring back at me.
"What are you doing?" If he was angry, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it.
"Taking your shoes off." I pulled at the laces. He made no effort to stop me.
"You fell asleep," I said, slipping the shoe off and setting it on the floor with its partner. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"It's okay," he muttered with a tired smile. For whatever reason he seemed to be amused by the whole thing.
I stood up and said, "Go to bed and get some sleep."
"I'm fine." Greg closed his eyes and rolled over, facing the sofa. "Try not to read all fucking night, Jimmy. The light under your door keeps me awake." He was out again in ten seconds.
Every time I think I've got Greg's eccentricities down he always turns around and does something else that leaves me shaking my head.
After a brief hunt I found an extra blanket and draped it over my eccentric friend.
Sleep tight, Greg. Things should be better tomorrow.