A/N: I know the song's originally about drugs, and, though that would have worked, too, I thought it echoed House more as self-harm.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House (more's the pity) or the song lyrics. The song is 'Hurt' performed by both Nine Inch Nails and Johnny Cash. I don't own them either. it's quicker to say I own nothing. Nothing, I tell you...
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
He grunted involuntarily as he drew the silky silver metal against his raw flesh, but suppressed the feelings. This was pain. This was good. Meant he was still alive… somewhere… somehow…
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
It didn't hurt at all, anyway; not really. Not real pain. Not like his leg. He pushed the point deeper. If it didn't hurt, he obviously wasn't doing it right. The gasp that emanated from him as the pale, smooth membrane burst was one of relief.
The needle tears a hole
That old familiar sting
He cursed himself silently for having let Cameron take away his only real reprieve. Needles were very inefficient. Still, it was better than nothing.
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
Better than nothing, perhaps. But it wasn't good enough. Increasingly, nothing was good enough. He needed it, more and more. It had been like that with the Vicodin in the beginning, too. But a drugs habit was harder to hide.
I wear my crown of thorns
On my liar's chair
What good had he ever done anyone? Yeah, everybody lies. They all knew he lied about that. Which meant that some people tell the truth. Yet you can't separate them out. Oh, well. Life's a bitch. It's not as if they've got somewhere to be when they die, anyway.
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
One thing he'd learnt was that meddling gets you nowhere. People are too complicated: it's best to keep out of their way as much as is physically possible. It worked: Cameron no longer doted on him, did she?
Beneath the stain of time
The feeling disappears
Eventually, the sediment that accumulates on your life blocks out those things you don't want to remember. Or don't need. He was, at long last, accountable to no-one. People thought they liked him? Oh, how wrong they were. Of course they didn't like him.
You are someone else
I am still right here
Nobody liked him. And why should they? He didn't blame them. If he was able to escape himself, for just a moment, he'd run off, too. Leave that desolate shell of a man behind.
What have I become
My sweetest friend?
Increasingly, he'd been giving himself a shock when he looked in the mirror. Who was this ghost who stared out at him? No-one he knew; that was for sure. He didn't want to know, them, either.
Everyone I love
Goes away in the end
What was the use in knowing people? They only leave you. Better never to have loved, definitely. If you love, you can never live.
And you can have it all
My empire of dirt
His life was constructed around one principle: Everybody lies. Which was a load of crap. So what did he really stand for now?
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
He had this strange knack of causing pain wherever he went. He'd destroyed Cameron simply by doing nothing. It was too late to turn back the clock now: he'd realised that after the funeral, when they'd all been gathered in relative sobriety in his office, staring at the newest bloodstains as if that would make them disappear.
If I could start again
A million miles away
What was it he'd said to Wilson, when he'd resigned? If he could do it all again… to which Wilson had replied bluntly 'You'd do the same thing'. And it was true. Because how on Earth could he ever go back and change things? Well. Considering going back in time is physically impossible for the moment, this is only a hypothetical solution anyway. And what good do hypotheses do in real life? There was no hope now. For him; for anybody.
I would keep myself
I would find a way
As he relaxed against the firm, unforgiving wall, he felt strangely hazy. It was going to be alright now – he knew it was. He watched his life draining out of him with a detached amusement. Ha! Wilson would have some cleaning up to do later, that was for sure.
He was vaguely aware of movement all of a sudden. Someone was wrenching at his arms, and pulling them tight. But it was too late, of course. He laughed, wearily.