Losing Sleep
Summary: House has a dream full of happiness. When he wakes up to his everyday life, and realizes that none of it was real, depression takes over and sleep is lost. First-fanfic Please R&R Thanks.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.-- What's that? ---Oh, I know, me too.
Chapter 1
Looking at his watch, House realized that if he was going to get any shut eye for the night he would have to turn back. Not only was he 3 miles (an estimated length) away from his apartment, it was 1:00 in the morning.
Like birds are meant to fly, House was meant to run. He thought himself pre-destine to do all that he could. Which was solving the most difficult cases, pushing his mind to limits no others dared to go, and to run and test his physical limitations at every chance. Sweat soaked into every visible part of House's clothing, and his calf muscles were beginning to burn at the much anticipated late-night jog.
After stopping himself in mid-stride, he sought out the neighborhood around him. Unfamiliar, just as so many other aspects in his life. But soon he came to the conclusion that for once in a great while, he felt truly happy. Excited even, that he would get to know these streets and hopefully find a chance at enjoying life and all it had to offer. As this feeling of true joy erupted, another thought came to mind: Why was it always so difficult for him to achieve this level of happiness? What limited him from being all that he could be, whether it be finding love, or attaining relationships?
It was a small vindictive voice inside the doctor's head that caused thoughts to surface and reality to set in. It told him of a horrible life that was lived day-to-day, and of a miserable man that had become because of it. A wave of exhaustion started flowing through every muscle and every part of the newly joyous man.
It was anxiety and dread that took over when House realized that none of it was real.
The dark houses and unfamiliar streets were all nothing. They faded into a dark backdrop, and the intricate details of his surroundings were distorted and insignificant. House figured that even the drop of sweat making a path down his cheek wasn't real.
The only thing that felt remotely normal was the pain arising in his chest and the knowledge that this was the closest to happiness or satisfaction he would ever allow for himself.
This hallucination-this state of faltered reality was his only chance at feeling normal, the fish was finally put back into the water. As darkness curtained his environment, House lowered himself to the ground and awaited what he was sure to come-- his everyday life as only he knew it best.
The first thought that came to mind when House awoke was I hate my subconscious. Lately, it seemed as if every night it teased him. It poked fun at how miserable he had become, and how unlikely his situation was to ever change.
This had been one of the crueler dreams, because it replayed the time when House had undergone the Ketamine treatment and was temporarily returned to normalcy. It was nice to be able to run again even if it was only in a unrealistic dream, but the cruel part was waking up and remembering that his life would never again be in that pleasant state.
House then opened his eyes, and was welcomed with the end of his nightmare. Nothing.
Literally, as House lifted his head and attempted to sit up, the amount of light in the room was so diminutive that he couldn't even make out the features of his bedroom.
Pain started to radiate up from his leg, and yet reminded him of his physical barrier and constant reminder of how pathetic he had become. After reaching out into the darkness, House located his pills, popped two and proceeded with the thoughts that he knew he should try and push away.
He hated these times, when sleep was out of the question, and it was only him and his mind, left to deal with each other. Normally, he would call Wilson, (for advice he would never admit to) but he was stopped, and for once thought about respecting the man, who was probably the only person who truly cared about his(House's) existence.
House found his cane, and thought it better to be sitting in the light of his living room, than to lay in the darkness of his bedroom. Feeling blind, House maneuvered himself through the hallway, and thought about the current irony that was for his life.
When the space around him opened up, and he was in the living room, House could feel his eyes start to water, and was ashamed of it because he could not clearly identify the cause. Before he located the light switch, he observed the cool shadows that cast themselves through the windows, and thought about the light that peeked in from a distant street outside.
When the light was turned on, House made his way to the couch. His head started to pound, and for once was surprised that his headache was currently hurting more than his leg.
He assumed that the headache was just a small side effect from the couple of glasses of scotch that he had consumed before he went to sleep.
Dread was creeping up on him, and he knew that today was going to be a bad one. Not only was his head drilling holes into itself, his leg was screaming along.
To top off this predicted physical thriller of the day ahead, he felt abnormally depressed, and had no motivation to change his situation.
House flipped his cell phone open after what felt like days of sitting on the couch. Light had already started to fill the rest of the apartment, and was pouring in through the living room windows mixing with the artificial light from the lamp that had been turned on when he awoke.
His cell phone illuminated 9:00am, and House realized that he had been sitting awake for approximately six hours. Damn.
After this practically sleepless night, going to work was the least favorable thing to do now. House then sat up, put his head in his hands, and thought about how to approach his next move, which was to call in to work, for reasons slightly unknown, and to converse or better said argue, with Cuddy.
"Hello, Lisa Cuddy speaking"
"not coming in today"
"House? This better be good"
"It is because… I'm actually calling you"
"Why?" He could feel the tone of frustration beaming in her voice.
"Because I'm not coming in today."
"I figured that House… I have a degree…I meant why are you not coming in today? Too high, too drunk? Can I get a little information here?"
"Because I'm not feeling well Cuddy…drop it"
"House, you're a grown man, if you need a Dayquil, or even an antacid, you WORK AT A HOSPITAL! Not feeling well isn't going to cut it. Either come up with a better excuse or get your ass in here!"
"Damn it Cuddy….I couldn't sleep last night, and I figured if you want to avoid harsher than usual cracks at your appearance, your ego, self-esteem, and job-- then it might be wise to let me come in late or something, so I can get some more sleep!"
"House-I don't have time for this. Whatever…come in later, but know that if you expect to just come in and lounge around in your office, you're wrong. Have fun in the clinic…lots of it."
The click came next, and House sat there for a minute listening to nothing but the hum of the refrigerator in the distance. He finally decided that he was going back to bed, in hopes of releasing the restraints of depression from his body, and his mind.
He reached over, turned the lamp off, and killed the majority of the light in his environment. He heard the bed, call from the bedroom, and was ready to be welcomed by the comfort and security that it offered. I'm definitely not going into work today, he thought as he struggled to make it to the bedroom.
After tucking himself in, he closed his eyes and prepared himself to return to the darkness and nothingness that he had abruptly woke up from so many hours ago.
