A lone sweat bead rolled down House’s cheek, as his shaking hand reached to wipe it away.
It was House’s fifth dia in the detox, the pain in his leg was throbbing continuously, even with the replacement pain meds, it couldn’t replace the relief he felt when he took his Vicodin.
House sat in the torn lounge chair, opposite his doctor; his glasses sliding down his nose, his dark brown eyes staring back at House, watching his every flinch and every reflex.
“Greg. Do you feel uncomfortable?” His patronising voice rattled House, but the pain deterred him from biting back.
“The pills aren’t work doc.” House’s was angry; his water bottle that he picked up from floor beside him was shaking profusely as he drunk it.
“It’s the Vicodin addiction that has landed you here. Once we clear it out of your system, we can assess you properly.”
Looking back down at his clipboard, the doctor wrote notes on the chunk of paper attached to his clipboard.
House began rubbing his forehead, as he began to feel even mais agitated, and tapping his leg as the doctor watched him closely.
“Maybe a few hours in isolation will help you calm down.”
The doctor paged the nurses; tall and bulky men entered the room, lifting House out of his chair and dragging him to the white padded room down the dark and damp corridor.
“Get off of me!” House struggled as they tightened their grip on his arms and legs.
Shoving him inside the white padded room, they locked the door; followed por loud banging on the small 10x10 thick glass window.
“Hey!” Punching the glass on the thick concrete door until his knuckles began to bleed under the split-flayed skin hanging off them.
Giving up, House walked to the other side of the room, defeated. Tugging on his taupe coloured t-shirt before rubbing his bloodied fingers on it, he slid down the corner of the room. His long knees brought up close to his chest, his hands covering his head, as he let out a long sigh.
Not knowing where things were going, House let his arms fall to his side as he opened his eyes, he could see a blurry image standing in the opposite corner.
Shaking his head to the left slightly, he though he was just tired, but the image wasn’t going away, it was becoming clearer.
“Greg.” Recognizing the voice coming from the ethereal image scared him slightly, as he tried to edge in closer into the corner.
House’s eyes narrowed in on this petite figure glaring at him, as she was dressed in a white renda, rendas, laço dress, with bare feet. Her hair was slightly longer, her head covered in a mass of corkscrew curls.
After realizing it was nothing but another hallucination, or maybe even a dream, House smirked.
“I wondered when you’d show up.”
Smiling back, Cuddy walked slowly towards him, kneeling down in front of him, as she leaned in towards him. House woke up.
He was curled up in the corner of the padded room, it must have been a dream, when he looked up and around the room he knew he was alone.
Hitting the foam floor in frustration, he picked himself up, walking towards the door, banging again on the glass window. Shouting to get someone to let him out.
The nurses left and brought his doctor to open the door, and then he escorted House back to his room. The sound of the heavy rain outside stopped him from getting any form of rest, and so he was left staring up at the grey ceiling on his metal single bed.
With one arm resting on his stomach, he sighed before turning on his side, staring through the grill covering the window, the grey clouds turned to black, as the rain got heavier.
House was alone, something he had strived for after so many years, he had finally got what he wanted.
Only in his dreams he could escape and see her face.
Closing his eyes, and going back into a relaxing slumber, he could see her once more. Opening his eyes to wake-up in his dream world, he saw her standing in the corner seguinte to the grotty basin beneath the cracked window.
“I thought it would be Wilson this time around.” House sat up on his bed, looking at the outfit his subconscious had dressed Cuddy in.
“Maybe tomorrow.” Her voice made his eyes light up, as she walked towards him, and sat down beside him on the bed.
“I’m you remember, so no dirty thoughts; you’ll give these psychiatrists a field dia if you do.”
Staring back at her, he smiled slightly at the corner of his mouth.
“What do we do then?” House voice was dry, suggestive and welcoming as he looked at Cuddy all over, as he tried to familiarise himself with her after not seeing her for a few months.
Cuddy stood up, gently walking towards the window, looking up at the darkness above in the sky.
“We can talk.” Cuddy turned back round, facing him, her hands and fingers intertwined.
“You’re never going to open up to those guys, but you’ve got to open up to someone if you want to get out of here.”
House began to feel a lump in his throat; he always sort of knew he would have to talk about how he felt in those psychoanalysis sessions, but he had always told himself he didn’t have to, he had tricked himself to staying in her longer than he wanted to.
“So you’re suggesting I pour my coração to you, to myself. This idea sounds convoluted.”
Cuddy giggled slightly, and rolled her eyes. “It’s your idea remember.”
There was a moment of silence, the two of them just staring at each other.
“What?” Cuddy folded her arms, as House began looking at her up and down.
An image of him making out with Cuddy right there and then entered his mind, but when he closed his eyes and opened them again, he was still sitting on the torn and broken metal bed, and he was still seeing the image of Cuddy in front of him under the window.
“Nothing.” His voice began to echo, and the image of Cuddy slipped away out of his mind, and he found himself waking up to the numerous noises coming from the other mental patients inside the hospital.
There was a single bang on his door. “Lights out House.”
“I don’t even own a light!” Shouting back, he pulled the thin cama sheet over himself, and immersed himself in the only travesseiro he had on his bed.
Unable to sleep, he just stared out of the window, thinking of her, but even the thought couldn’t take his mind off the hurting weight of his damaged leg. Wincing in pain, all he could do was rub it over and over again.
It was House’s fifth dia in the detox, the pain in his leg was throbbing continuously, even with the replacement pain meds, it couldn’t replace the relief he felt when he took his Vicodin.
House sat in the torn lounge chair, opposite his doctor; his glasses sliding down his nose, his dark brown eyes staring back at House, watching his every flinch and every reflex.
“Greg. Do you feel uncomfortable?” His patronising voice rattled House, but the pain deterred him from biting back.
“The pills aren’t work doc.” House’s was angry; his water bottle that he picked up from floor beside him was shaking profusely as he drunk it.
“It’s the Vicodin addiction that has landed you here. Once we clear it out of your system, we can assess you properly.”
Looking back down at his clipboard, the doctor wrote notes on the chunk of paper attached to his clipboard.
House began rubbing his forehead, as he began to feel even mais agitated, and tapping his leg as the doctor watched him closely.
“Maybe a few hours in isolation will help you calm down.”
The doctor paged the nurses; tall and bulky men entered the room, lifting House out of his chair and dragging him to the white padded room down the dark and damp corridor.
“Get off of me!” House struggled as they tightened their grip on his arms and legs.
Shoving him inside the white padded room, they locked the door; followed por loud banging on the small 10x10 thick glass window.
“Hey!” Punching the glass on the thick concrete door until his knuckles began to bleed under the split-flayed skin hanging off them.
Giving up, House walked to the other side of the room, defeated. Tugging on his taupe coloured t-shirt before rubbing his bloodied fingers on it, he slid down the corner of the room. His long knees brought up close to his chest, his hands covering his head, as he let out a long sigh.
Not knowing where things were going, House let his arms fall to his side as he opened his eyes, he could see a blurry image standing in the opposite corner.
Shaking his head to the left slightly, he though he was just tired, but the image wasn’t going away, it was becoming clearer.
“Greg.” Recognizing the voice coming from the ethereal image scared him slightly, as he tried to edge in closer into the corner.
House’s eyes narrowed in on this petite figure glaring at him, as she was dressed in a white renda, rendas, laço dress, with bare feet. Her hair was slightly longer, her head covered in a mass of corkscrew curls.
After realizing it was nothing but another hallucination, or maybe even a dream, House smirked.
“I wondered when you’d show up.”
Smiling back, Cuddy walked slowly towards him, kneeling down in front of him, as she leaned in towards him. House woke up.
He was curled up in the corner of the padded room, it must have been a dream, when he looked up and around the room he knew he was alone.
Hitting the foam floor in frustration, he picked himself up, walking towards the door, banging again on the glass window. Shouting to get someone to let him out.
The nurses left and brought his doctor to open the door, and then he escorted House back to his room. The sound of the heavy rain outside stopped him from getting any form of rest, and so he was left staring up at the grey ceiling on his metal single bed.
With one arm resting on his stomach, he sighed before turning on his side, staring through the grill covering the window, the grey clouds turned to black, as the rain got heavier.
House was alone, something he had strived for after so many years, he had finally got what he wanted.
Only in his dreams he could escape and see her face.
Closing his eyes, and going back into a relaxing slumber, he could see her once more. Opening his eyes to wake-up in his dream world, he saw her standing in the corner seguinte to the grotty basin beneath the cracked window.
“I thought it would be Wilson this time around.” House sat up on his bed, looking at the outfit his subconscious had dressed Cuddy in.
“Maybe tomorrow.” Her voice made his eyes light up, as she walked towards him, and sat down beside him on the bed.
“I’m you remember, so no dirty thoughts; you’ll give these psychiatrists a field dia if you do.”
Staring back at her, he smiled slightly at the corner of his mouth.
“What do we do then?” House voice was dry, suggestive and welcoming as he looked at Cuddy all over, as he tried to familiarise himself with her after not seeing her for a few months.
Cuddy stood up, gently walking towards the window, looking up at the darkness above in the sky.
“We can talk.” Cuddy turned back round, facing him, her hands and fingers intertwined.
“You’re never going to open up to those guys, but you’ve got to open up to someone if you want to get out of here.”
House began to feel a lump in his throat; he always sort of knew he would have to talk about how he felt in those psychoanalysis sessions, but he had always told himself he didn’t have to, he had tricked himself to staying in her longer than he wanted to.
“So you’re suggesting I pour my coração to you, to myself. This idea sounds convoluted.”
Cuddy giggled slightly, and rolled her eyes. “It’s your idea remember.”
There was a moment of silence, the two of them just staring at each other.
“What?” Cuddy folded her arms, as House began looking at her up and down.
An image of him making out with Cuddy right there and then entered his mind, but when he closed his eyes and opened them again, he was still sitting on the torn and broken metal bed, and he was still seeing the image of Cuddy in front of him under the window.
“Nothing.” His voice began to echo, and the image of Cuddy slipped away out of his mind, and he found himself waking up to the numerous noises coming from the other mental patients inside the hospital.
There was a single bang on his door. “Lights out House.”
“I don’t even own a light!” Shouting back, he pulled the thin cama sheet over himself, and immersed himself in the only travesseiro he had on his bed.
Unable to sleep, he just stared out of the window, thinking of her, but even the thought couldn’t take his mind off the hurting weight of his damaged leg. Wincing in pain, all he could do was rub it over and over again.
When does amor become something we need, rather than something we want? amor was seen as something special a long time ago. Now amor is what we are expected to have with us everyday of our lives. amor is common currency when you are a teenager, but turns to worthless pennies the older you get. Do we not care about the substance of what amor was and not what it has been made into today por commercialisation from American filmes and televisão commercials and soap operas? Only when we experience amor for real, can we comment and judge others who are in Love. amor means something different to everyone. Not two people’s feeling of amor is the same. Why do we generalize, rationalize and compartmentalize Love? amor is and will continue to be an enigma. Only a handful of people will ever unlock it and witness its true beauty and essence. The essence we all crave.
Love.
Love.
