Chapter 1: Ripples in the Pond
House was awakened by the squeal of tires from down his street. He shut his eyes tighter, wishing the morning away, begging his dreams to come back to him. Keeping his eyes scrunched closed, he reached out for his pillow, slowly turned over and slammed the pillow over the back of his head, blocking out the light of dawn and the sounds of birds chirping outside his apartment. He grumbled, but he couldn't go back to sleep. He laid there for another ten or so minutes, and then he opened his eyes.
A thin shaft of light shined through his window onto the floor, slightly illuminating the room. His carpet sent out tiny dust motes, floating around the room. The bed felt so much softer than than the cold carpet... he didn't want to ever have to leave it. The bed felt slightly empty... although it was spacious, he always wondered what it would be like to have someone there with him, day after day, week after week, year after year. If only. House moaned... Usually, his room was flooded with light from the window. It couldn't be any later than 8:00 if it was this dark in his room. There was no delaying it, he had to get up eventually.
Groaning, he massaged his leg, groped over to his bedside table, and grabbed his vicodin bottle. He popped open the bottle and shook out its contents onto the floor beside him. He grabbed two vicodin and swallowed them. He applied pressure to the side of his table and lifted his body about a foot or so off the bed. He swung his feet around, with a bit of complaint from his leg, and sat there, his feet dangling off the mattress. He got up off the bed, putting weight on his good leg only. Something in him knew this wasn't going to go well, but he sucked it up, took a deep breath, held it, and slowly put his weight on his bad leg.
A bolt of pain shot through his thigh unlike one he had felt before. It felt like someone had poured hot lava into his veins, like it was rapidly burning him from inside. He let out a short cry and stumbled, grabbing his aching thigh. The last thing he saw was the framing of his bed coming up fast, he heard a thunk and his head complained of agony as well. He collapsed slowly on the ground, and then all was black.
House woke up slowly and delicately, squinting into the later morning sun. His head ached, but at least it had taken the pain of his leg away, for now. He inched his hand out from under him and rubbed his temple. There was a mark there, and a small pool of his blood on the floor. He sighed, but that made the pain in his head worse. He opened his eyes, and dragged himself along the floor towards his cane, grabbing at least 3 more vicodin and shoving them down his throat. He ever so slowly lifted himself off the ground, careful to keep the weight off his leg. Snatching his cane, which was hanging on his bedside table, he slowly and pitifully limped his way to the bathroom.
He looked at himself in the mirror. He must have fallen and hit his temple on the corner of his bed. The gash was long and thin, but deep, and it led from the middle of his temple to the edge of eyelid. Crimson red leaked from the hole, but the worst of the bleeding was over. "Perfect..." he thought, as he rubbed the stubble on his chin, "the last thing I need is a another disfiguring scar..." He hated how helpless he looked, a cripple who had to plan his day around the awful pain that dogged him all day. He grabbed a towel and some hydrogen peroxide from his cupboard, and dabbed at the cut 'till most of it seemed better. He then hobbled back into his bedroom and dried the pool of blood. "Now I have two blood-stained carpets..." He sighed.
He took the rest of his morning routine slowly, hoping not to spark another attack from his leg. While he was changing, he put on sunglasses, although it was a cloudy day, and a baseball cap, adjusting them so they seemed to cover most of his gash. He made himself a cup of coffee, to wake himself up, God knows he needed it. He grimaced as he took a sip, knowing he could have just waited for Cameron's coffee... it was much better. He looked at the clock on the wall over the coat rack as he walked out the door and towards his motorcycle. 9:23, the clock read. House moaned. "Well," He thought despairingly, "At least I got my beauty sleep... this going to be one b!tch of a day..."