Thirteen Looking in the Mirror

"You get twenty seconds." The girl on my bed said. I didn't even bother to learn her name; it'll be someone else tomorrow morning so why bother? I run a hand through my hair and turn on the faucet, slowly bringing my eyes up to the mirror directly after.

My eyes are shiny, glassy most likely from the cocktail of ecstasy and alcohol I had five hours ago as I took another random, nameless girl to my bedroom. They are red-rimmed and tired, from the lack of sleep because this has become something I do every night. Get wasted, have sex, and cure the hangover with I.V. fluids when I can get away from House and Cuddy. At least I'm having fun.

It would really suck if I was not only dying, but living a boring life as well. Despite how stupid I know I'm being, it hasn't affected my work and it's not like anyone really cares. House might be mildly interested in my downward spiral, but that would fade quickly because he already knows the cause and would much rather mock me about how hot me and another girl together would be and if I would give him a demonstration.

Foreman would probably say that I shouldn't ruin my life just because it's shortened. Whatever, he really shouldn't talk when he has no idea what I'm going through. He would say I should take care of myself. What he fails to see is despite how healthy my diet is and how often I exercise, I will still die a slow and humiliating death way before most people would.

I've seen it happen. When my mom was first diagnosed my dad made sure she did everything right: followed all the instructions the various counselors and medical help groups gave, accommodated every new advancement of the disease as best they could, everything. I remember when she started having difficulty walking up and down the stairs because the disease was affecting her legs, my dad moved all their stuff from their room upstairs to the guest room down stairs. And when she could no longer bathe herself, I'd be forced to. All that "taking care of herself" did nothing for her but make her last symptomless years completely unremarkable.

I wouldn't be like that. The disease had taken a toll on my family before my mother even started showing symptoms because my dad insisted that we show support to my mom by following her health regime along with her. When it had begun to show in her, I had to take care of her instead of the other way around, and when she died, the years my father had spent taking care of my mother had estranged us so much that I haven't spoken nor heard from or about him for almost 10 years.

The cycle is beginning again with me, but I won't let it ruin me before time. As long as I can I will continue doing as many things, good and bad, as possible. If I want to have a different girl and a different drug every night, I will. I still have control of my life.

I hear a thump and a crash. "Hey, what are you--" Turning my attention from the mirror and the inner musings it instigated I finish turning and stop mid sentence as I see tonight's girl on the floor, seizing. Great, now I have to take her to the hospital. This will be interesting... in a really bad way.