Another miserable, boring day. I need to feel. I need my vicodin. I need cocaine. I need SOMETHING. Cuddy walked into my office.

"Can I help you?" I asked with narcissism dripping off my words.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning".

I smirked at her and looked at the vanilla folder in her hand.

"15 year old caucasion female. Presents with a headache, rash on her lower thigh, stomach pains, and nausea."

"Fine I'll try" I mumble.

"Are you okay?" She quietly asked me.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You seem like you've given up!" She exclaimed gasping.

"No I'll help her!"

"Not on her! On yourself!"

"I'm fine," I sigh, "I'm just not happy."

"What's wrong, House?" Cuddy looks at me with eyes filled with concern.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"Take the day off, House"

"No!" I yell.

"Take the day off, House" She sternly demands.

"Fine." I resign.

I picked up my stuff and left, glaring at Cuddy on the way out.

"I'll call you if we need help on the case" she called.

"Then I will be hearing from you soon" I call back.

I got on my motorcycle and sped off. I really hope they don't need me. I have the worst headache ever and I've been wishing to die all day, but I can't do that with a case, can I? Too bad, so sad. They won't miss me. They hate me. I only picked Cameron because she was pretty, I constantly pick on Foreman for stealing a car when he was a teen, and I just don't like Chase. I annoy and steal from Wilson, and Cuddy has to pay for everything I do, and she just sent me home. They hate me.

Let me take some more Vicodin and maybe this headache will go away.

8 pills

Maybe some sleeping pills will help.

12 pills

Advil?

18 pills

Ibuprofen?

26 pills

Nothing is working. I pull out the tiny black box from under my bed. I find the key, put it in the hole and turn it. I open it and take the rubbing alcohol, the bottle, and the syringe. I filled the syringe with the liquid in the bottle and closed the bottle. I cleaned off my arm and found a vein.

I give up

I stuck the needle in and pressed down the syringe. Now I don't have to wait much longer before the drugs get into my system. I go to my piano and sit down. I play the song that means the most to me right now, How to Save a Life by The Fray. It reminds me how I should've gotten help even before my leg tried to kill me and Stacy left.

Too bad. My vision's already blurry. It's too late for anyone to save me. Even myself.

I'm sorry.