The Last Relapse
He walked into his apartment, tossing the keys to his bike onto the table that stood beside the door. After sliding off his jacket, he felt his body moving over to the liquor cabinet. An old habitual activity that still felt so familiar. He poured himself a tall glass of bourbon and limped, bottle in hand, back over to the couch.
"I need a guy I can count on every single day. That's never been House."
He found himself scoffing, fighting back the overwhelming emotions that filled him as he took another long gulp from his glass, the alcohol sending a bubbling warmth to his stomach. For the first time in his life, he had laid his heart on the chopping block. He had been willing to take that chance. He had been willing to tell her what had been eating at him for all of those years. But most of all, he had been naïve. She deserved better. She had better. He had never felt so discarded in his life.
His forehead rested against the junction of his pair of fists. The emotional pain that coursed through his chest surpassed any physical pain that he had ever felt. Including his leg, which was now throbbing. He guzzled the rest of his liquid love and unscrewed the bottle that held the rest, preparing to drink directly from it. He had tried to change. Attempted to alter his lifestyle. For her. And it had meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. In her eyes, he was still the immature, unreliable bastard that he had always been.
He was done.
Reaching into the drawer of a side table, he rummaged around until he found it. An orange, white-capped prescription bottle. Just the tip of the iceberg that was his stash. The stash that he had had the willpower to avoid. Until tonight. He pressed down precisely on the child-proof lid and let it fall to the floor. His heart raced as several of the white, oblong tablets danced out into his waiting palm. Just the weight of them on his skin was nearly intoxicating. He counted out six and tossed them back, grabbing the neck of the liquor bottle and slugging down a few mouthfuls to swallow them. With as long as he had been clean from his treatment at Mayfield, he knew that that would be enough. The combination was deadly and that was the whole idea.
Wilson would not arrive tonight to find him splayed out on the floor in his own sick.. Cameron would not stop by to check on him and clean him up. No one would expect it this time. Not even the person that he needed most.
Would she even ache a little when she was told?
The only thought that remained in his mind as the euphoric rush took over his senses was her. Her beautiful smile played vividly behind his closed eyelids. The only love of his life and she didn't give a damn about him anymore.
His breathing became more and more shallow with each inhale. His heartbeat slowed and his limbs started getting heavier and heavier. In the complete daze of the narcotic, a slight smile donned his face just before he lost consciousness. His last words tumbled over his parted lips.
"I love you…"
The final sound was the crashing of glass a few moments later as the bottle slipped from his hand, which fell to dangle lifelessly over the edge of the couch.