He sat on the floor of the bathroom, the little amber vial in his hand. At one time he'd had hundreds of these stashed around his apartment, this was the last one he'd saved. He took out two pills, swallowed them. Felt their sweet taste going down. It had taken time and money to get these sugar pills made up to look like Vicodin. Cuddy had jumped to the conclusion that he was using again without him even having to plant the pill bottle somewhere for her to 'find' it.
He smiled at the memory of his quick improvisation when she'd confronted him. No, he hadn't had Vicodin in two years, and had no intention of starting now, but he had known that if she thought he was using again she'd break up with him so fast his head would spin..
He'd wanted 'out' of this thing for the last month or so, the sex was great but everything else was too much, the kid, the mother (oh God, the mother!), the sister, the constant demands that he be something he didn't want to be, that he change to suit her. And all the time the threat of ending the relationship if he didn't comply. He'd wanted someone in his life, but not like this.
He knew it would have to be Cuddy who ended the thing, if he was to ever have any peace from Wilson's lectures, or to able to work in the hospital again. So he'd begun to set it up so that she'd think she had no choice but to dump him.
He'd been priming Rachel to spill the beans for a couple of weeks now, constantly swallowing the sugar pills in front of her and calling them 'candy', he thought the kid would have ratted him out to Cuddy long ago but she'd kept her adorable little mouth stubbornly shut.
He popped the vial in his pocket, satisfied. He'd wave it around in the hospital for the next week or so, appear depressed and out of control. Maybe he'd even do some sort of Romeo & Juliet suicide scene on his office balcony, that would be fun. Wilson would come and 'save' him from himself. That would cheer Wilson up, he'd been unbearably mopey lately. A needy House would beat a diabetic cat any day of the week.
He went over to his trusty couch and flopped on it, grabbing the remote control. No Disney movies or chick flicks tonight. He tuned to the monster track rally and sighed. This was the life.