Ya I know this story was on a rediculous hiatus on top of tests, home work, school, travel, theatre and sickness when I finally had time to update, my computer pooted out on me :/
please tell what you think idk if I like this chapter, the beginigngs kind of dark, and if it's a total abomination I can always rewrite it this is just my warm up from my long absence
Reality sliping through his hands like grains of sand, falling into the dark ocean of nothingness, and if he was lucky…he'd never surface again. The drugs, the alcohole supplied him with an artificcial ecstasy filling, taughnting him with an illusion of a pain free world.
But that's all they were illusions, deciving pictures that were painted across the inside of his eyelids, becoming more vivid with every drink, wanting to escape from what he prised himself on most...his mind.
He forced himself to think of terms of fact and reality even when the truth was a worse hell for him than the lies that were blessed upon him as he swam in a sea of alcohole. Reality was his hell, he could feel the flames licking his skin like the tongue of the devil, taking a little more then a little more from him leaving behind a body of burnt, ashen skin, but nothing more.
Yet he lived in the real world…untill he was alone, and his shields had been damaged from a long day of war and he couldn't hide the pain not from himself not from the demands that danced upon his walls, singing in the desolet. Yet the darknes refused to swallow him and the wieghts of his eyes refuced to drop and the world would not let go its relentless grip on him and grace his fatigued body with sleep.
So he sat there with his two unrelenting friends, the only thing constent in his life, pain and coldness. He clutched the brown bottle in his hand, whitch seemed like his only life vest to keep him from being pulled under by his two friends, whatching the clock tick by.
House plugged his vintage guitar into the amp and turned the volume as loud as it could go, adjusting it so the powerful blast was pointed at the sleeping figure on his couch…Wilson. A classic-House smirk stretched across his face.
He took his best rock star pose and struck the string dramatically, the loud echo vibrated through the small apartment. Wilson's arms swung wildly jerking out of what was a peaceful sleep. Two brown sleep filled eyes peered out at House in a, what the hell way. His brown hair jetting out in wild directions, not nearly as bad has House's but an entertaining sight non-the-less.
"I didn't want my little Jimmy to be late for his bald kids," He said in a fake endearing tone.
"Was that completely necessary," Wilson grumbled looking around the room with annoyed squinted eyes, his ears still ringing from the disturbance.
"If I wanted to have any fun, then yes."
"What time is it?"
"First of all despite my charming appearance it only takes me an hour to get ready not two and second of all…why are you up this early?"
"What makes you think I woke up"
Wilson paused for a while, mulling over Houses words
"You didn't sleep last night?"
"Sleep is for losers," he said childishly
"And why are you talking so loudly,"
"Boy aren't you just full of questions this morning," House said while pulling out two orange earplugs. Wilson merely shook his head and put his hands up in surrender, too tired to go into Houses crazy antics. He shuffled his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The only thing that he could find was an expired carton of milk and a couple of old Chinese take out boxes.
"This would explain why you only eat MY food," he said before slamming the door shut.
Wait a second
"House, where's the beer I brought over last night," He shouted to House who was now in the living room as he searched the fridge thoroughly once more.
"Gezz Wilson isn't it a little early to hit the sauce," House mocked shock.
Wilson's eyes grew with realization.
"You drank the whole thing, it was a six pack!" The Oncologist entered the living room, hands on hips.
"I was thirsty, you as a doctor should know it's important to stay hydrated." He limped heavily to the closet, his "bitchinnn" cane in hand. He could feel every muscle in his aching body tighten in anticipation; it was only a matter of time before the volcano of sentimental, gooey feelings crap, which was Wilson, erupted.
"There better ways of dealing with your problems…"
"Actually no there not, I'm not dealing, because there no problem to deal with, therefore dealing with an imaginary problem would in fact be worse." He swiftly (or as swiftly as he could) slipped on his jacket.
"Ya that's why a little water scarred the crap out of you yesterday," He immediately regretted his harsh words, but it was too late.
Something flickered across the older doctor's face, something almost resembling pain stirred in his ice blue ice, then quickly stifled by a well practiced mask.
"Lock the door on your way out," House stepped out into the cold frigid air, the wind tore and whipped across his stubbled face yet he let his jacket hang loosely from his skin pretending as if it couldn't penetrate his force field. Yet if he was honest with himself he would know he felt zero to the bone.
Alright I hope you like it cuz I don't know if I do…*bits lip and awaits nervously for reviews*