a/n: yes this is a drug related story. Enjoy-- read and review...even if you don't like it.

don't own


It hurt. The first time he did it. Well, obviously it hurt, anything you inhale through your nose would hurt. But this, this was a different kind of pain. It was like his sinuses were being ripped apart.

He felt like he was floating, and yet he felt as if he was falling.

His world seemed to spin, though he knew he was sitting still.

His mind felt like it was going to explode, yet he felt an amazing rush.

He felt tears build up behind his closed eyes, and he wanted to feel them drop.

Pressure was building up on him, but he felt like he was falling to pieces.

Everything melded together, but his mind seemed to vortex into another time continuum.

It was a wonderful feeling, but he felt sick.

He never wanted to do it again, and yet, oh and yet…it felt so good.

That was what meth did to you. The beautiful and at the same time terrifying experience was all too much.

But, it was perfect. The perfect death.

He felt alive.


He was only seventeen. And sure as the old cliché goes, 'teenagers experiment.'

But, all he'd ever done was pot, and like that was a big deal?

Especially in the seventies.

He hadn't been exposed to much; weed, alcohol, even the 'only on that one occasion' a Vicoden. It wasn't a huge deal to be high, not made out as good as many people assume. Just the slightly fuzzy, floating feeling when you're at that perfect plateau. Much like the buzz of alcohol, only more tiring.

He was not an idiot, he knew what to do and what not to do…he hadn't even smoked a cigarette- well not since his dad had caught him and threw him out into the yard to sleep-- right after he ATE the whole pack.

A turn off to nicotine was when you had it stuck- grimy and thick- between your teeth.

No, Gregory House wasn't an idiot. He knew the outcome of all drugs….well most. He'd never done them.

Not speed, crank, meth, juicy-juice, 'chasing the dragon', nose candy, booger sugar, crystal, glass….No. he was smarter than that.

It was a stupid decision. A stupid night gone wrong.


The visit.

A visit to the big apple. A friend he'd met in Brazil called and his mother said yes (He's going to be 18 in two months), against his fathers wishes, and who was he to turn down this incredible offer?

He showed up at the New Yorker's apartment a bit past midnight. The flight had been delayed two hours because of the snow.

"Dane?" The hallway was quiet and dark. It felt uncomfortable- like he was in a homeless shelter or something.

He knocked and said his friends name once again.

Dane opened the door.

"Gregory." He emphasized each syllable as if it was greh- gore- eeeee.

"Hey." He nodded simply and let himself in.

Despite the rank smell, the place seemed to be okay. He sat down on the ratty grey couch and his bags dropped beside the arm of it.

He saw powder in a line on the table. "What's that?" His chin jutted toward the whitish-yellow substance.

"You've never seen speed before? Mother of God have you been repressed."

"That's Meth?" Greh-Gore- eeee. Asked almost horrified.

"Duh dude. Try some."

Dane shifted the mirror toward him with an anxious smile on his face.

"Nah." he shook his head quietly to discourage his friend from trying.

"Just try it, man, it's not like it's going to kill you."

That's exactly what it'll do.

He tried to say no, but it DID look inviting. And God help him-- he wanted it.

He didn't nod, didn't blink…didn't hesitate again. He grabbed the mirror from his 'friend' gently and placed it on his leg. Dane handed him a rolled up dollar bill and stood back in admiration of himself that he'd gotten yet another sucker on the hook.

Greg didn't blink, didn't hesitate- be bent down and snorted the line.

The burn was greatly unexpected.

It was a wonderful- no, exhilarating, burn.

It was what it felt like to be alive. Mind clearingly alive.


He went into a frenzy. One line quickly dissolved into two. Two into three. Three into…who cared? He was high. Higher than he'd ever been. Higher than he'd ever expected. Than he'd ever imagined.

He was spun.


He stayed in the same position for a long time. Contemplating, imagining, dreaming, speeding.

He thought. He thought long and hard, harder than ever. He tasted the bitterness in his mouth. He felt his nervous system twitching. Everything felt good and awful at the same time. It was mind-blowing.

Hunger. He was definitely hungry. He wanted something to eat but everything he even imagined made his stomach turn.

No- food was not an option.

The next sense he had was the scent of nicotine. Marlboro to be exact. And God did he want one.



Two and a half days later he was still spun out. Walking down the street hand in hand with a bottle of Vodka. He hadn't dared take another line. Not after the four- five….three? He'd had two and half nights ago.

Three days of a high and finally he laid down on the grimy couch and almost immediately went unconscious. A dreamless, deep, mind numbing sleep.

It was good. Until he woke up.

Never- would he again take another look back at that monster.


Tbc- if you liked it. I have some good ideas for this story.