Trust
House shook the bottle of the recently acquired Vicodin. He rolled absently between his fingers, engrossed in internal turmoil. Three days he had spent, desperately trying, to postpone this event. He didn't want to give up on the Ketamine and admit it had failed. Although, he couldn't forget, yesterday evening he had been in overwhelming agony. He couldn't deny himself any longer.
He tipped a single white pill into the palm of his hand. He Slipped the bottle back into his jacket pocket with the well practiced movement. He stared at his bittersweet relief. Two-month vacation from the dead muscle and damaged nerves had been the best months for over 6 years. He had allowed himself to hope that the treatment would last. He had been wrong, wrong to hope, and wrong to believe that it would work for him.
The two, deliciously mouth watering, pain free months had changed nothing. He was once again a slave to his merciless damaged nerves. An internal war raged inside his head. Even if his leg was shooting off hot, angry, pulsating pain he wasn't sure if he wanted to let the dream end. To go back to being physically dependant to a drug that would eventually kill him. Once he swallowed the potent opioid, it would be absorbed into his bloodstream, acting on the pain receptors in his brain, and giving him the inevitable high. He despised the unavoidable dependence and physical addiction it made him feel pathetic.
OOOO
"What's up?" Dr Cuddy asked as the head of oncology hurried into her office. Wilson doesn't answer, instead thrusting the open black book at her. "The pharmacy log?" She looks back confused, at the clearly rattled, oncologist who nervously rubbed the back of his neck.
"Look at yesterday." He sighed collapsing into one of the office chairs. Following his instruction she scanned the records, trying to find what had flustered the oncology department head. Third row from the top;
Patient Name: House, Gregory,
Prescribing Physician: Wilson, James M.D,
Prescription: Vicodin, 36 tablets, 15mg.
Authorising pharmacist: Murphy, Robert.
Time issued: 17:33.
Followed by both House and the pharmacist's signatures.
Cuddy looked up.
"You didn't know?" it wasn't really a question but a statement; she could already see where this was going. Wilson shook his head as he paced the office, he was furious. He stuffed hands deeply into his lab coat pockets. "Have you told anyone?"
"No." He shook his head. "I found the numbers didn't match this morning, so I rang the pharmacy asked what was the last of my prescriptions to be picked up yesterday." Dr Wilson stopped pacing the length of the desk, and returned, to anxiously massaging the back of his neck. "He stole my pad! He forged my signature!" He angrily pointed at the book.
" Have you spoken to House yet?"
"No." Wilson shook his head, taking a deep breath. His hand returned to the back of his neck. He didn't look forward to that conversation.