Kind of depressing. Based off of "Baggage".
And if There is No Answer, What is There?
The pills rattled in the bottle being held by the white cap. The tan orange colour was hardly visible through the moonlight. The white pills were filled to the brim in the new prescription bottle of Vicodin.
"And everybody else is happy."
He popped open the bottle and poured a couple pills into his hand, cradling them in his palm, eyes riveted onto the small white objects he hadn't seen in so long.
His leg still hurt.
Was it ever going to stop?
His phone started to ring, but they fell on deaf ears. The only ringing House heard was the one of memories colliding and crashing into each other. Trying…trying…
All you wanted to be was happy.
House chuckled dryly, and poured a couple more pills into his left hand. Holding the bottle upright with his right hand, he shook the bottle, the sound of the pills bouncing off each other meeting his ears with more clarity than the persistent phone in the background.
Oh to hell with it.
He emptied the bottle into his palm, let the orange bottle slip through his fingers and hit the carpet with a light thud. He placed both hands next to each other and made it so that he was cradling the pills in both hands. Leaning forward from his slouched position in the couch, he let them clatter onto the wooden coffee table in front of him.
He briefly glanced at the still full glass of scotch before bringing his now empty hands to his face. He rubbed his face, trying to sort out and collect his thoughts.
I tried to be good.
House let out another dry, humourless laugh. He'd even gone to see his therapist when he felt the pressure building up.
And it's been building up for a while.
He picked up one pill between his thumb and index finger, and brought it to his face, staring it down.
A year. And where's it gotten you?
He glanced at the scotch again, glass glittering through the light of the moon seeping through his window.
They expected you to fail anyway.
What's that odd noise in the background? Doesn't sound like a phone?
How is it possible to be so captivated by a simple pill?
I wanted to be happy.
Nostalgia filled his senses, and although the pain in his leg didn't ease up immediately, the bitter taste of the pill as he savoured it on his tongue brought forth a sense of fulfillment he hadn't experienced in a while. He sucked on it, letting his tongue press it against the roof of his mouth, letting his eyes close and he leaned back in the couch.
You can't go back now.
His eyes opened again, but they were half lidded. He leaned forward and using his right hand, slid some of the pills carelessly into his left.
How many?
He clapped his left palm into his mouth, the pills collecting on his tongue, the bitter taste enveloping his senses. His saliva gathered and melted them, and he dry swallowed, grateful for his gag reflex being the same as it ever was.
Sure the bottle says how many there are.
As he swallowed, and swallowed slowly, House glances at the leftover pills still on the coffee table, reflections of the Vicodin sparkling off the glass.
Rather than going for the rest, his hand grabbed the glass of scotch and he downed it, feeling it burn alongside the pills as they travelled down his throat.
So good.
"…know this…third message…call me…left…over in…"
What's that?
Oh, Wilson, Wilson- he's leaving a message.
Sounds worried, concerned-
Should've thought about that before he politely asked you to leave.
At least he was polite. Not like last time.
You wouldn't have been able to put up with that.
Oh. The glass is empty? Where's the bottle? Somewhere too far away, must be.
There's still some more left.
He never leaves, huh? Probably wish you did sometimes…
To hell with it.
Whatever the answer is, he sure as hell wasn't going to find it.
It probably just wasn't meant for him to have that answer.
You can figure out all the puzzles you want and need for everyone's sake but your own. This puzzle's tricky, this puzzle-it's for yourself. That's why there's no answer.
And if there's no answer, what is there?
"You always were good at doing jigsaw puzzles, weren't you, Greg?"
His mother's sweet voice met the 8 year old's ears and Greg nodded bashfully, looking down at the completed puzzle of a beautiful house.
"Daddy doesn't like me doing them, does he?" Greg questioned, mumbling a little.
His mom's arm came around his shoulder and pulled him close to her.
"He doesn't always show it, but he's very proud of you."
Greg looked up, hopefully at his mother.
"Really?"
"A puzzle is just like the beginnings of life. All scattered and spread out, but you, my dearest Greg, you have a gift. You see the big picture before you even start putting the edges together." His mother's sweet smile made him feel all warm inside.
"But daddy says it's pointless."
"Lovely Greg, he's just jealous and afraid you'll put all the answers of life together before he will."
His fist was getting numb from banging on the door, but the lack of response only worried Wilson more.
When he finally got fed up, the door was on the floor and Wilson was sporting a bruised shoulder.
Ah, House must've just fallen asleep on the couch.
He started towards his friend, slightly annoyed and turned to face the couch when he saw the foaming at his best friend's mouth.
A quick glance at an empty glass and an all too familiar orange bottle had his phone in his hand and hitting 3 keys, trying to swallow the building panic.
"Daddy, I did another one. Look, look! Are you proud of me?"
A grunt signaled that Greg had caught his father's attention, but that was all he'd managed to do. Sighing, Greg looked back down at the puzzle and started to take it apart when he felt a hand ruffling his hair.
Sharply looking up, Greg caught his dad's gaze of reassurance, and was startled by the affection he saw there.
"Good on you, kid." A gruff voice, but one that made the little boy beam all the same.
He tousled Greg's hair a little more before trudging away from him.
"Daddy?"
"Don't mess it up, I'll tell your mother to grab a frame and we can put it up in the living room."
Greg felt more complete than all the puzzles he'd ever put together added up.
Not sure if I want this to be more than a one-shot. It was pretty much the last couple lines House said in "Baggage" and what I felt would happen in my angst yearning mind. Not that great, but what the hell.
Review, please and thank you 3