Hi! And here's a third installment of my oneshot... drabbly... stuff. House is a little out of character, but hey. It's hard to understand the guy. And besides, he's crazy. He needs to act a little differently. ..Right? Please enjoy!
House sat on his white Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital bed, twirling his cane in his hands. He was finally allowed to be reunited with his old friend, after a month of staggering around, trying not to trip all over himself while grabbing wildly for anything that could support his weight just to walk to the other side of the room. If he was in any shape like he thought he was in his delusions a month ago, he would have just had a faint limp, but ever since his admittance, House found himself in such unbearable pain that he couldn't even move his leg without feeling like someone was shredding him to bits with a cheese grater.
Amber sat across from him, lounging in the sole chair in his room, picking at her perfectly manicured nails. Kutner hadn't manifested himself lately, and House took that as an indication of his getting better. Amber though, she's just like she was when she was alive. Stubborn. A real thorn in his side, no pun intended.
"Hey, Cut-throat." She looks up. Why exactly did he call out to her in the first place? He paused.
"When are you going to leave?" She laughed dryly, holding out her right hand and examining it in the fluorescent lights of the room.
"The day after never." Amber looked up at him, raising her eyebrow in a challenge. "Besides, why would you want to get rid of me, House? I think we've both established the fact you'll never have a real woman by your side any time soon. I figure you'll start to accept my company. I'm your alternative to love, to loneliness."
House sighed. "I'll never accept you." He looked up, and stared at the tiles in the ceiling. They were like the kinds in public schools, cheap and probably something as destructible as Styrofoam, with lights that flicker at such odd intervals you almost start believing that it's just you, blinking.
He could hear Amber laugh, and the click-clack of her heels as she walked towards him. She sat next to him, close to him, and stared him in the eyes wickedly, "Oh, but House… You already have."
House shut his eyes tightly and began reciting every bodily organ, it's uses and common diseases related to it in alphabetical order. Amber continued to laugh.
"What's the point in even thinking about medical stuff? It's practically a fact now that you'll never be sane enough to practice again," House shut his eyes tighter, tighter, so tight that he thought for sure he was going to seal his eyelids together. Amber was relentless, "You'll never be able to do anything anymore! You can't even walk! You can't tell reality from delusion, and look at you! You're in a Psychiatric Hospital, House. Not exactly what I call good information to put on a resume," She was laughing to herself, laughing, drawing out the words psychiatric hospital.
"C-cuddy-!" He protested, gritting his teeth as the emotional daggers Amber was plunging mercilessly into his chest combined with the burning, flesh-crawling pain radiating from his thigh, creating a combination that even a lethal dose of morphine couldn't tame. The hallucination erupted into wicked giggles, her voice dripping with such truth that it made tears sting his eyes,
"Cuddy what? Cuddy will hire you back? She's been dying to fire you ever since you set foot in her hospital, House. She doesn't want you back," Amber's voice cut through his pain-fogged mind, crystal clear when all else was starting to fade behind the great waves of pain that were rippling through his body.
"She-she-sh! Lo-loves m-!" House stuttered, grinding his teeth and huddling into a ball, trying his hardest to convince the hallucination, to convince himself, that what he was saying was true.
Another wicked laugh. "No, no she doesn't, House. How could she possibly love you? You're nothing but a cruel bastard. How many times have you insulted her, insulted everyone? You can't say two words without hurting her. She doesn't love you. No one loves you. Your father didn't love you, and you don't love yourself." She sneered, "Not even Stacy loved you, did she?"
It was all it took. Hot, salty tears poured down his face like waterfalls, dripping off his nose and chin, some slinking past his lips and gritted teeth onto his tongue, burning. He had nothing to hold them back anymore. No vicodin, no alcohol, hell, he didn't even have reality. Every single time he ever forced back his sorrow came back with a vengeance. The dam broke.
And Gregory House cried.
Okay. Um. Thanks for reading. I enjoy reviews. Wait! I know, I'll use reverse psychology. I hate reviews. Don't review. No matter what you do, don't hit that review button. A kitten will die if you do.