Writer's Note: This takes place after "Lucky Thirteen" when Thirteen was still self-destructing and Foreman was worried about her. R&R, I'll accept good or bad, as long as I get feedback!
With the syringe in hand, I injected the drugs straight into one of my main arteries, knowing that it wouldn't take long for the liquid to fill me. I set the needle on my nightstand and untied the cloth from around my arm. I waited until the rush of adrenaline passed, then stood up to dispose of the syringe in case House came to nose around for some made up reason. After the syringe was safe in the dumpster behind my apartment, I sat back down on the bed and let the feelings the drugs brought with them wash over me. I was relieved to have some happy emotions course through me for once, even though the drugs took big shots at your health. But, I figured I'm already dying so…why not?
After the added emotions died away, I crawled under the covers and curled up. The drugs left my head spinning and me shaking from a cold only I could feel. Just as my mind was starting to get fuzzy, my cell phone vibrated from its place next to the cloth. I picked it up without interest and saw Foreman's number.
"When did he get my number?" Of course, it was in my file so I suppose it was very easy to look through it and write my cell number down. I tossed the phone back on the nightstand and hear d the answering machine pick up.
"Hey, it's Remy. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number then I'll get back to you soon." I could hear the cheerfulness of my voice, even to me it sounded fake.
"Hey Thirteen, it's Foreman. I was just wondering how you were doing. You know, you've been acting really strange at work and everyone's starting to get curious, especially House. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, bye." After the message stopped, I anticipated it before it even happened; my home phone rang.
As Foreman left another message about his concern for my well being, my emotions started falling over one another and I felt the hot trail of tears make their way down my face. The drugs were well out of my system, but I couldn't help but think they still had some effect on me. I felt the walls around my mind crumble and I thanked God that I wasn't at work when this happened, though I've come close a few times. I felt dirty, a whore. I was trying to drown my emotions in drugs and sex with people I didn't even know let alone remotely care about. Forget about feeling like a whore; I was a whore. No one wanted me and the emotional baggage I brought with myself. My disease felt like a huge storm cloud forever hanging over my head until it would eventually rain down upon me. There were people who cared about me sure, but only for my own good. No one who would be here when I got home, no one to curl up next to when I slept, no one would be here to stop me from putting drugs into my bloodstream simply because they cared about me. No. I was raised hard with no one to care for me, so I could keep up the façade for as long as I needed with my colleagues, but when I got home it was like I was constantly suffocating.
After a few hours of lying cold in bed, a knock came from my front door. Instead of answering it, I rolled over on my side so I was facing the wall. I knew who it was, and if Foreman was desperate to get in, then he could get my key from House. As the pounding kept going, more tears trickled down my face and I whispered to the lonely darkness.
"Please, just let me be alone in peace."